


The Sky and the Wolf

by FenHarellan (rogueofstorms)



Series: Lavellan's Tale [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Slow Burn, asexual!Solas, ish, maybe if we ignore our feelings they'll go away, oh look my homestuck trash is showing, solavellan goodness, some kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 75
Words: 111,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rogueofstorms/pseuds/FenHarellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Lavellan is chosen by her clan to go to Conclave. The story of my Inquisitor - there will be minimal use of game dialogue, though some scenes will probably sneak their way in. Eventual Solas/Lavellan romance and all that entails. Angst, fluff, drama.</p><p>If you have not finished the game, or otherwise mind learning spoilers, I highly recommend that you do not read this fic. It contains major endgame spoilers almost from the beginning, as well as my headcanons that result from those.</p><p>COMPLETED. TRESPASSER WILL BE COVERED IN A NEW STORY SO KEEP AN EYE OUT. Thanks for reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

Fen’Falon. Wolf-friend. She had a different name in the beginning, before the day she went missing from clan Lavellan’s aravel ring.

 She was only just past her sixth year and had begun her studies of Dalish history with the Keeper, in addition to learning to hunt, cook, and repair the aravels. Most days just listening and learning were enough for young girl, but today she was fidgety and restless, wanting to run and jump and climb like the other children of the clan. Keeper Deshanna sighed in exasperation - teaching the children was always a trial.

 “Go play, _da’len_. Time enough for learning tomorrow,” the Keeper told the girl. The young elf bounced up from her sitting position and tore off into the forest.

 The girl’s dark auburn hair streamed in her running wind as she moved from forest path to rock to a tree. It wasn’t just any tree - she had been climbing this particular one all year, trying to reach the canopy. Light and quick on her feet, like all elves of the forest, the girl pulled herself up into the branches until she could safely go no higher. She sat still, quietly observing the world around her for hours.

 At least, until something else caught her attention, like the pack of Lavellan hunters who passed below her, likely looking for the clan’s next few meals. Thinking herself stealthy enough to go unnoticed (she didn’t, the rear lookout spent more of his time keeping an eye on her than looking for trouble), the girl followed the hunters from the trees, curious to see what they might find today.

 Off to one side, a glimpse of something shiny and reflective caught the girl’s attention. She wandered away from the hunters, much to the relief of the rear lookout, who assumed that the child was heading back for the aravels before it got dark. The girl walked for almost the distance it would have been back to camp before she found the object. It was spear of everite, thrust out from a large boulder - interesting enough, but certainly not the hint of buried treasure that she had been imagining it as.

 The girl looked around and realised that she was now thoroughly lost. Between following the hunters out and wandering away, she had no idea where she was in relation to the camp. The Keeper had covered situations like this though - her best option was to stay put and wait for a search party to find her. Her fun adventure was suddenly sour in her mouth as she tried to figure out how long it would be until someone realised she was missing, and how much longer after that it would be until they found her.

 The young elven girl fell asleep next to the boulder eventually, tired from her adventure and from becoming lost along the way. Her clan searched all night and into the dawn, finally stumbling across her sleeping form curled against the body of a white wolf with blue eyes.

 When she returned to camp, Keeper Deshanna declared that the girl’s name was now Fen’Falon, as even Fen’Harel’s creatures were friendly to her.

 

* * *

 

Fen’Falon continued her tree-climbing habit as she grew older, finding a fondness for being able to spot visitors and game from farther than most. She also grew more solitary, preferring the company of tree branches and the statues of Fen’Harel that stood guard against the camp.

 It wasn’t that the others in her age group were unwelcoming, but her innate curiosity and desire to learn did alienate her in a way. Fen’Falon’s peers listened to their lessons, but never asked _why_ that was what Mythal had decided, or _how_ Fen’Harel had sealed the other gods away. The Keeper encouraged this curiousity, but to many of the clan Fen’Falon’s questioning was nearly blasphemous. To them, the stories were true and that was the end of it. The stories had happened exactly as told, for the reasons given, and there was no need to question them beyond what was known.

 “Perhaps you will help bring back what was lost,” the Keeper had told Fen’Falon when she was but ten.

 At the age of thirteen, Fen’Falon became a mage, further isolating her from her peers, but also marking her as a potential new Keeper. Keeper Deshanna helped Fen’Falon learn control, and to keep her mind her own as her dreams wandered the Fade. Fadewalking fast became the young elf’s favourite pastime - it was more private than walking in the forest, and more dynamic than even the clan’s travels could be. Uncorrupted spirits walked with her sometimes, but far more fascinating were the snatches of memory that Fen’Falon passed through. The Keeper also made sure that Fen’Falon knew to protect herself in the Fade, to keep from becoming an abomination and bringing the Chantry Templars down on clan Lavellan.

 At fifteen, Fen’Falon became an adult. Known by now for her lone wanderings in the forests, she had also gained a reputation as a keeper of secrets. The same isolation that made her feel like an outsider in her own clan also meant that her peers thought her a safe confidant. Oh, the things she could have caused to happen if she were a gossipy sort, the relationships she could have spawned and destroyed. The power of knowledge and secrets was a heady one for her, reined in only by her adherence to Keeper Deshanna’s wisdom.

 

* * *

 

“Fen’Falon, child of Nirthan and Levanna, are you prepared?” Keeper Deshanna said. The solemnity of the moment was not lost on the young elf mage. This was it. This was when she would receive her vallaslin. The clearing was empty of all but the two of them, a single cut-down stump of a tree in the middle.

 Fen’Falon knelt on the ground in front of her Keeper next to the stump, head bowed and green eyes shut in deference to her harhen. “I have studied our past, I have listened to our wisdom. I have hunted the buck and the nug, I have gathered herbs and mended wagons. I pray to Mythal for guidance, to Andruil for the hunt, to Ghilan’nain that I might see a golden halla. To June for craftsmanship, to Sylaise for warm fires, to Falon’Din for the path to Uthenera. To Dirthamen for knowledge, to Elgar’nan that our enemies be struck down. And I pray that that Fen’Harel stay his hand from me and mine. I pray to all and none that I am found worthy in the eyes of the clan and its Keeper.”

 “Truly you have learned what there is to be learned,” replied the Keeper. “Crafted what there is to be crafted, healed those in need, guided those who were lost. You have lit our fires, filled our bellies, and slain an enemy of the clan. May the Dread Wolf never find you, for we find you worthy, Fen’Falon.” Keeper Deshanna recited the ritual words with the ease of long practice. “To which Creator do you wish to show respect?”

 Fen’Falon had thought for the past week about this, wanting to pick the god most suited to her and her desires. Given her secretive and secret-keeping nature, there was truly only one good option, but she had needed to consider how that would change her in the eyes of the clan. Dirthamen, god of knowledge and secrets was not popular among the Lavellan, as they tended more towards Andruil and Mythal.

 “I wish to declare myself for Dirthamen, Keeper,” Fen’Falon said. Keeper Deshanna’s eyes widened at the unorthodox choice, but otherwise the Keeper betrayed no feelings on the matter. It was not hers to judge.

 “Very well. Lift up your face and calm your mind, _da’len_.” The Keeper moved to stand closer to Fen’Falon, uncorking the vial that held the purple ink Lavellan clan reserved for Dirthamen. A very thin, very special wand that had been passed down through the centuries was charged with the Keeper’s magic and dipped into the vial. The Keeper murmured a prayer to Dirthamen and began to apply the vallaslin, channeling her magic through the wand to ensure the ink never faded. An unfortunate side effect was the pain of application, but Fen’Falon knew that to cry out was to be shamed, the process stopped, and so she clenched her teeth and made fists of her hands to keep from making a sound.

 For uncounted minutes Fen’Falon knelt there, face turned towards the sky and her Keeper, her eyes shut to keep the permanent ink from dripping into them. The immediate pain finally stopped, Fen’Falon’s mind growing sluggish as the magic took hold. Her consciousness felt so muddied by the ritual that she did not feel her Keeper’s gentle hands wiping away the blood and excess ink from her face.

 “It is done,” said the Keeper. “Welcome to the clan, Fen’Falon.”

 “ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper. It is an honour,” Fen’Falon replied softly. A nearby stream provided the young woman with a makeshift mirror to see the new markings. Her fingers danced lightly over the tender and inflamed lines and dots, marvelling to see what had once been the marks of Dirthamen’s faithful on her face. The ink colour was unusually fortuitous as well, the pale purple serving to pull more of the green colouring out of her eyes.

 She was an adult in the eyes of clan now, free to do as she wished for the benefit of the clan.

 

* * *

 

At twenty-five years of age, Fen’Falon’s vallaslin had not faded one bit, as promised by the ancient magicks it was wrought with. First to the Keeper of clan Lavellan now, Fen’Falon enjoyed the sudden popularity with her peers and the children. She helped to teach their history while learning ever more from the Keeper. That all changed when Divine Justinia announced the Conclave.

 The mage-templar war had been raging for years, with no end in sight, though clan Lavellan had managed to stay well out of the trouble themselves. It was time to discover the hows and whys though, and who better to send than Fen’Falon, pledged to Dirthamen and First to their Keeper? The young woman was asked to attend the Conclave at Haven in secret, to hide and listen to the _shemlen_ words, and then return to pass the new-won knowledge to Keeper and Clan.

 

 


	2. The Conclave Ignited

Walking into Haven was easy. It wasn’t hard to steal one of the spare guard uniforms. It certainly wasn’t hard for Fen’Falon to pass through the many guards on the way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, where the Conclave would meet. There was a trick to it, of course. She walked in as though she was supposed to be there, as though she had an errand she was on for someone far more important than whoever was on guard duty. No one stopped her, no one asked where she was going or who she was, and she moved past quickly enough that it would have been difficult for them to realise that she was a Dalish elf.

Once inside, it was a simple matter to discover where the talks were being held - the guards who weren’t on duty for the meeting chamber were clearly jealous of those who were. To be that close to the Divine was apparently a major honour to them. Fen’Falon shook her head and nearly gave an audible sniff of disapproval. Silly _shemlen_ and their false god.

Fen’Falon made her way to the meeting chamber, but instead of walking in, she went into one of the side-rooms and clambered up to the rafters. A short crawl later saw her in a corner of the roof of the room, easily able to see and listen to those participating. The talks were barely interesting, interminable arguments between the First Enchanter of the Circle mages and Knight Commander of the Templars, punctuated occasionally by minor representatives of the nations involved. The first few days of watching these people were interesting, but after nearly a week the arguments were obviously getting them nowhere. The same points were repeated over and over again, and even the Divine was started to look exasperated by the childish behaviour of the representatives.

To ease her boredom with the main point of her mission, Fen’Falon explored the Temple and Haven when the talks were in recess. The Temple had been well-built, and would stand for ages to come, barring another of the human wars they seemed so fond of. Haven was far more interesting. Well-wishers, spies, onlookers, a bare handful of Grey Wardens, and the faithful all mingled together there, hoping to hear scraps of the goings-on of the Conclave. More city elves than Fen’Falon had ever expected to see outside an actual city were present, either as servants to curious nobles, or as faithful to Andraste and the Maker. A few she took to be city elves at first, for they lacked the vallaslin, turned out to be a part of the Circle of Magi from all corners of the world, though most seemed Fereldan. A very rare few of the present mages appeared to be honest-to-Mythal apostates, like her; city elves, humans, even a qunari or two (although why qunari mages were there was a question beyond her).

The mages were seemingly a nervous bunch, here to keep their First Enchanter from harm, and Fen’Falon tried her hardest to smother the impulse to make it seem as though one of them were doing magic. Pranks were not usually in her nature, but her immense curiosity nearly demanded to see what would happen if the non-mages present thought the rebels were actually doing something here. Her quick mind supplied numerous answers, ranging from ‘all the mages would be shot down and smote’ to ‘mass panic and everyone runs away’.

Today though, she would sate her curiosity about the Divine. The way everyone at Haven talked about the woman, you would think she was Andraste returned. Fen’Falon wondered if the Divine was always this kind and level-headed, or if that was just her public face. After listening in on the talks, she employed her skill at stealth and followed the Divine through the Temple to the Divine’s private quarters. Or at least, that was the plan. Of course the Divine couldn’t be accommodating and just retire for the day, the woman needed to pray in the main chapel first. Fen’Falon rolled her eyes and settled herself in the rafters above the doors to wait for the Divine to exit.

It was a long wait, and the Divine still had not come back out when three Grey Wardens opened the doors and walked in. The heavy doors shut behind them, muffling the sounds of questions going back and forth between them and the Divine. Fen’Falon crept down from the rafters after more than a minute of silence, determined to hear what the Divine and Wardens could possibly have to talk about. The doors, however, were thick enough that words were unintelligible, at least until the elf heard the unmistakable sound of a cry for help from the Divine.

Fen’Falon burst into the room. Two Wardens were anchoring some sort of unique holding spell that had the Divine floating in the air, arms straight out from her shoulders. A _thing_ stood in front of the Divine, some sort of cross between an abomination and a darkspawn with a human face. The face was terrible to look at, red crystal jutting out from the thing’s jaws and skull, mounds of darkened flesh studded with the crystal built up the shoulders until they were out of proportion. The thing’s robe covered its legs, thank the Creators, for Fen’Falon did not want to see what might have been done to this creature to make it so. It held a carved orb of some sort in one hand, a sickly red glow emanating from it. The creature turned to see what was interrupting an obviously delicate ritual, even while still channeling magic to whatever mysterious ends.

“What in the name of the Creators are you doing?” Fen’Falon asked.

The Divine turned to look at Fen’Falon, seeing one of her guard. “You have to warn the others, this is a monster made flesh! Run!”

The _thing_ \- Fen’Falon refused to believe it had ever been a person, the rituals needed to do that alone were more terrible than anything even Fen’Harel had been said to do - the thing spoke. “Take care of this interloper. The ritual cannot be interrupted further.”

One of the Wardens moved from his position to swing a blade at Fen’Falon. She ducked and rolled to one side, deciding in the moment to do as much damage to this mysterious magic as possible. The creature raised the hand with the orb and Fen’Falon nearly gasped at the sheer pressure of magic wielded by it. She lunged for the orb and exerted her will. To her shock, the orb fell from the creature’s hand and bounced onto the floor.

“No matter,” said the creature. “It is done. Let the world burn. She will not survive the coming reckoning.” The creature gestured to the Wardens, then used its magic to punch a hole through the roof. As Fen’Falon reached down to pick up the orb, a blinding green flash filled her vision and she fell, screaming out in pain. Fen’Falon blacked out, thankfully before she could see what that creature had wrought.

 


	3. Waking Pain

For a long time, there was nothing but pain. As she floated back up towards consciousness, Fen’Falon was assaulted by a ringing sound in her ears, mixing with the pain and a faint smell of blood. She opened her eyes, but there was only blackness, flecked with afterimages of virulent green. Through the ringing in her ears there was muffled conversation, but the ringing overruled the speech and she could make out none of it. Fen’Falon drifted back into unconsciousness.

She woke later fully, finally able to see and hear the world around her. Not that there was much of it - she was in some kind of dungeon cell, the walls dank with moss. Her hand were bound in manacles that were attached by a bar in the middle, and chains ran down from the bar to manacles at her ankles. Fen’Falon carefully shifted herself into a sitting position, her backside resting on her heels.

The interrogation was blessedly short, given that Fen’Falon could not remember anything past arriving at Haven. Her interrogators were decidely unhelpful, neither one mentioning what had happened to cast her in suspicion. The one with short black hair and facial scar moved towards her and grabbed Fen’Falon’s left arm.

“Explain _this_ ,” the woman said venemously. Fen’Falon looked at her hand, surprised to see a glowing green line emanating from her palm. Fen’Falon shook her head, confused.

“ _Fenedhis_ , woman, how should I know?!” The elven curse slipped out, and the second interrogator reached out to keep the first from striking Fen’Falon.

“We may need her,” the hooded woman said. “Remember what he said about the rifts.” The scarred one made a noise of disgust, then pulled Fen’Falon up by the back of her borrowed tunic and marched the elf outside the building. She had been inside Haven’s Chantry. Fen’Falon blinked rapidly against the brightness of the day, even shrouded as it was by swirling clouds. Once outside, the woman with black hair removed the manacles and replaced them with a rope around Fen’Falon’s wrists, likely a precaution against the chance that Fen’Falon would run. She certainly thought about it.

“Look to the sky,” the woman said. Fen’Falon squinted her eyes against the sunlight, following the woman’s pointing finger. The sky was covered by dark gray clouds swirling into a poison green bank of clouds. A spear of the same green reached up into a hole in the clouds, its bottom end seeming to come from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Fen’Falon’s eyes made contact with the hole and she grimaced in pain. Boiling ice lances shot up her left arm and set it to tingling. The sharp and shooting pain drove her to her knees - the pain of receiving her vallaslin had _nothing_ on this. _Nothing_.

“It grows larger,” said her captor. “And each time it does, you have screamed out in pain. Come, we must get to the rift. You may be the only one who can close it.”

Fen’Falon sneered at the woman. “So now I’ve gone from being the perpetrator of this mess to your saviour? Tche. You need help alright, _shemlen_ , but I’m not sure it should be mine.”

The woman didn’t answer and pulled at Fen’Falon’s binding until the elf was in front of her. A gloved hand pushed at Fen’Falon’s back. “Move,” the woman said.

Fen’Falon walked slowly, intent on annoying this obnoxious woman. Unfortunately, Fen’Falon had not realised that the people still in Haven had decided that the Dalish elf was the one who had opened the hole in the sky.

“Divine Justinia is dead, and not a soul here thinks you innocent,” the woman informed Fen’Falon.

“Great,” Fen’Falon muttered. The pair continued forwards out of Haven through the gates and onto the road that led to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Twice more on the road Fen’Falon was driven to her knees by the pain emanating from the glowing scar on her hand. The second time it happened, the woman looked worried and pushed them to walk faster. As they reached one of the bridges across the now-frozen river, the hole in the sky spat out glowing green balls of flame. Fen’Falon could not help but stare at them, even as one crashed into the bridge in front of her and sent the two women and the bridge guards tumbling onto the river.

To Fen’Falon’s disgust, her captor also rolled with the fall, coming up into a fighting position just in time. A shade had risen from a fragment of the fireball and engaged the warrior woman immediately. Her prisoner forgotten, the human woman tried to cut the shade down and was soon focused wholly on her enemy. Fen’Falon looked around for a weapon, anything that could help her. A nearby by knife served to cut her bindings, but the movement drew the attention of a second shade. The shade moved forwards, its physical body jerking as the spirit within grew more accustomed to having a body. Fen’Falon grinned when she caught sight of a staff that had fallen from the bridge and lunged for it. She brought it up into the guard position before spinning it to direct frost balls at the creature.

The warrior dispatched her shade just in time to see Fen’Falon strike the final blow against the second shade by calling lightning from the sky. The suspicion that had painted the warrior’s face quickly morphed into fear at the sight of her captive wielding a staff.

“A mage! Drop. Your. Weapon,” the warrior woman said.

“Excuse me?” said Fen’Falon. “Without this staff, without _me_ , you would surely have died out here just now. Which frightens you more, warrior, a hated apostate elf, or these creatures falling from the hole in the sky?”

The warrior made a noise of disgust. “Fine. I suppose you make a good point. But do not think that I will not hesitate to cut you down, apostate.”

Fen’Falon gave a slight nod. “Which way now?”

“We follow the river. We must see if you can close this breach before it swallows the world.”

The two women ran along the river, occasionally stopped by more shades, and on one occasion, a rage demon. Their path was winding, and far longer that it should have been had the road been clear. The sound of fighting could be heard up ahead, and the warrior woman rushed forwards with a shouted “We must help them!” at Fen’Falon.

The mage sighed with exasperation - warriors were forever rushing into their fights without thought - and moved to follow. It was not a sight that she wished to see again that greeted her. A person-sized hole in the air spewed forth wisps and shades as another mage and a dwarf sought to hold their own. The warrior’s entry into the fray helped the dwarf remove himself from it and he fired his crossbow from a now-safe distance. Naturally, the warrior completely neglected to help the other mage, so Fen’Falon took it upon herself to pick off the shades that the mage could not see. As the other mage turned and twisted to rain fire and frost down on his enemies, Fen’Falon saw that he was an elf - an unmarked elf. She hoped that he wasn’t with the Circle, as even in their rebellion they were unusually unkind towards elven apostates.

The shades dispatched, Fen’Falon set fire to the last of the wisps. The other mage approached her and grabbed her by her scarred hand to point her palm at the rift in the sky.

“Quickly, before others find the doorway!” he said. “Focus and _close_.” Shocked by his rudeness, Fen’Falon listened before she even realised she was doing so. She flexed her will through the mark on her hand and _pushed_. Pain flickered in her arm briefly, a faint memory of the earlier bouts as the breach opened wider,  and the rift twisted upon itself until it vanished from sight. Fen’Falon snatched her hand away from the bald elf and looked at it in shock.

“It seems I was right,” the unmarked elf said. Fen’Falon wanted to smack the smugness from his voice - he may be older than her, but that did not give him the right to sound so self-satisfied after using her like he would a sentient staff. “The mark can close the rift, Cassandra.”

“I noticed,” the warrior woman - Cassandra - said dryly.

“Well, that’s useful,” said the dwarf. He looked at Fen’Falon and gave a short bow. “Varric Tethras, at your service. Bianca here and I were having fun, but help never hurts.” The dwarf chuckled at his joke.

“We must get to the breach,” said Cassandra. “The sooner we close it, the sooner this madness can end.” The warrior walked forward, clearly expecting the rest of them to follow her.

The other mage turned to Fen’Falon. “Well, if there are to be introductions, allow me. I am Solas, apostate and Fade researcher.”

The dwarf - Varric - cut in. “What he’s not saying is ‘I kept you alive even though that mark on your hand tried its damnedest to kill you’.”

Fen’Falon curbed her normal reaction to city elves and inclined her head at Solas. “Then it seems I owe you my life, Solas. I am called Fen’Falon, First to the Keeper of the Lavellan clan. It is nice to see that not all lost elves are entirely without manners.” Solas narrowed his eyes at her, as though she had insulted him by calling him lost. All city elves were lost to the Dalish; they had forgotten elven history, elven culture, and now lived as second-class citizens in shemlen cities. Fen’Falon may have been more open-minded than most Dalish, but it was hard to overcome years of ingrained attitudes towards non-Dalish, even if one had apparently saved her life. She would have to think of some way to apologise to the elven mage, as it seemed they were the only elves in this strange group they found themselves a part of.

“We should follow the woman,” Fen’Falon said. “She will likely get herself killed without us.” Solas and Varric fell in behind her as she followed Cassandra towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

 


	4. Shattered Thoughts

Fen’Falon. Had she truly been given such a name from birth? Solas studied the elven woman with narrowed eyes as they headed for the breach, and wondered if he was the butt of some cosmic joke. Mythal would surely be laughing at him right now, to see Fen’Harel’s grand design twisted almost beyond recognition by Corypheus and his orb’s power bonded to one named as Wolf-friend. It was amusing to see Fen’Falon mistake him for a city elf, although he would tire quickly of her attitude if he did not find a way to change it.

Solas heard Fen’Falon gasp in shock as they approached the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The once-grand Temple was shattered, spires of lyrium and Fade-touched stone jutting out from the edges like a giant spiked crown. He wondered what the Dalish elf would think of the petrified corpses as they moved farther in, of those who were not lucky enough to bond with a fragment of his godly powers.

He had studied her as she lay unconscious, tried to see if there was any way to recover his power and mend the breach by himself. Seeing her vallaslin dedicating her to Dirthamen had nearly thrown him the first time, until he recalled that it was the custom of the Dalish to mark themselves so. If only they knew how wrong their traditions had gotten things, had gotten _him_. He wondered what would happen if he were to tell Fen’Falon the truth of her markings. Solas knew he could not though, for why would a Dalish believe one she thought a city elf? None of the clans he had attempted to approach had treated him as anything other than a _shemlen_. Another cosmic joke - to be an outsider to the very people he had tried to save from themselves.

The group moved down the mountain path and into the temple. The Dalish elf put a hand to her mouth in what he assumed was horror, some of the petrified corpses were still aflame, even days later. Most fascinating to Solas was the amount of red lyrium present at the Temple. When he wasn’t studying the mark his orb had left on Fen’Falon, Solas was up here, trying to find a way to close the first rift the breach had opened. How bitter was the pill he had to swallow once he realised that after the long sleep of centuries and without his orb he lacked the power to close the tear it had wrought. And now here was this quickling Dalish elf child, marked and bonded to his power, with the ability to undo all of this.

His melancholy at his failure would not get him anywhere. Solas drew even with the Dalish woman as the group stopped in what had been a balcony hallway of the Temple to look up at the breach.

“This is your chance at redemption,” Cassandra said to Fen’Falon.

“ _Me_? When I did _none_ of this? How am I even supposed to get all the way up there anyway?” Fen’Falon asked.

Solas turned her, flexing his power slightly to make sure she looked to him. “The rift in front of us was the first to open. I theorise that closing it could stop the breach from spreading.”

Fen’Falon looked at him suspiciously, likely wondering how this unmarked elf knew so much about the breach already. Solas quirked his lips, enjoying the joke of what the truth would do to her.

“Let’s move,” said Cassandra. “We should find a way down to the rift and finish this.”

Leliana, bearing a bow and arrows in addition to her uniquely hooded armor, came upon them there at the edge. “I will have our men take up positions, Lady Cassandra.”

Closing the rift was of course no easy task, given that a mortal was attempting to wield the power of the gods. Fen’Falon was learning though, determination showing through her golden-green eyes as she tore open the jammed rift. The four of them - Fen’Falon, Solas, Varric, and Cassandra - fought the oncoming demons with the soldiers that were left, until a twisting of the rift indicated that it could be closed safely now. Solas willed the younger elf to focus and seal the rift for good, and surreptitiously lent her some of his power. Even that was not enough. Fen’Falon raised her marked hand and forced her magic through, the swirls of colour nearly visible from her effort. As the pain of holding that much power drove her to her knees again, the rift finally twisted shut and the mage collapsed to ground, unconscious once more.

The Chantry soldiers could not stop talking about Fen’Falon and the closing of the rift the entire way back to Haven, even as they carried the woman with them on a stretcher. Solas stuck close to the elven woman, studying her once again with his magic. There had been a faint hope that the power needed to seal the rift would be enough to destabilise the mark, allow him to reclaim his power. Perhaps when the breach was properly closed itself, he would be able to take back his fragment and complete what he had originally set out to do.

He watched this strange and abrasive elven woman as she sleep off the mana exhaustion, leaving only to return to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to study the breach there. Reports came in of rifts opened all over the world, whole cities being abandoned when no one could close the rifts. Solas was invited to sit in with Cassandra and Leliana as they debated what to do about the elven woman now that the people of Haven seemed to view her as a saviour. The soldiers who had returned from the Temple had spread the tale of Fen’Falon closing the rift and stopping the breach and word had made it’s way throughout the town by sundown that day.

On the second day of her sleep, he helped the herbalist figure out a way to keep the Dalish woman alive and stood as if to guard her outside the door of the house she had been put up in. Many residents and pilgrims came by and tried to catch a glimpse of the elf they were now calling the Herald of Andraste.

On the third day, the elf still had not awakened, and Solas had learned all he could from her sleeping form. He got Cassandra and Leliana to give him a small hut near the herbalist, far enough away from the main part of town that the smell of humans could not offend him. Solas tried to plan his next moves, but without the power of his orb it was slow going. The orb had been central to his plans, and without it he would have to search for either the orb of another god or an artifact of similar power. Solas did not even want to consider that it might be possible to convince the Dalish elf to help in his own ends - all his dealings with her kin had ended poorly. Cassandra and Leliana spent most of the morning in meetings with the Chantry officials and with Cullen Rutherford, who apparently used to be a templar and was now working for them.

In the early evening the Dalish woman awoke, fully healed and rested. Solas made sure to keep to his hut, he wanted to avoid the crowds of people that gathered on the streets of Haven to greet their _Herald_. The malleability of human minds was still novel to him, how easily they could be turned from reviling a murderous elf to proclaiming the same elf to be a prophet of Andraste. It would be fascinating to see if the elf bought into Andrastianism or if she remained steadfast in her equally misguided Dalish faith.

The female mage was brought to see Cassandra and Leliana. Solas had an easy time tracking her progress, as the pilgrims in Haven shouted out “Praise the Herald!” and other such nonsense as she made her way into the Chantry. The next few weeks were filled with a flurry of activity - Cassandra and Leliana opened an Inquisition, and messengers and birds went to and from Haven to spread the word. The writ posted by Cullen on the Chantry door stated that the purpose was to close the breach permanently, end the Mage-Templar war, and restore order to all Thedas. Noble goals, thought Solas, even if they may turn out to be unachievable. Solas tried his best to stay out of the way and unremarkable, unless they needed his expertise on the rifts. It would not do for them to start looking too closely into him at so early a stage.

 


	5. Useful and Stuck

All she wanted to do was go home. Home to the Free Marches, to clan Lavellan. The Conclave had been destroyed, and Keeper Deshanna would waiting for Fen’Falon’s return and the information she brought. According to Lady Cassandra and Leliana, though, she could not return. About a quarter of the folk in Haven still wanted the elven mage dead for being involved in the death of the Divine, and a number of Chantry folk were demanding that Fen’Falon be sent to Val Royeaux for execution - no trial necessary. Cassandra had taken to posting an Inquisition warrior or scout at Fen’Falon’s door to prevent those folk from creeping in to kill her in her sleep.

A prisoner in all but name as a result, Fen’Falon found herself haunting the forested mountainsides outside the town to get away from everything. More people flowed into Haven every day as word of the Inquisition spread. For her own protection, Cassandra had told her, it would be best if she stayed with the Inqusition. Fen’Falon hoped that meant that when things settled down, she would be allowed to return to clan Lavellan.

The pine trees that permeated the mountainsides were an unfriendly bunch, disinclined towards climbers, much to Fen’Falon’s disappointment. It fast became a game of hers to find the coniferous trees - the maples and birchs - and lurk in their branches to watch who came and went from Haven. It was a shame that Leliana’s ravens flew so high, Fen’Falon thought it would be amusing to catch one and read its message.

Cullen had managed to convince a few of the templars to join as well, which caused Fen’Falon no end of anxiety.She stayed well away from them and from Cullen, unwilling to risk being mistaken for the more rabid apostates who roamed the lowland hills and valleys. Solas was nowhere to be found, in or outside of Haven. She knew he still resided in Haven for now - Cassandra was especially fond of badgering him about closing the breach permanently.

An entourage of well-dressed humans with darker skin and strange accents came through one day with a lady wearing cloth-of-gold, but with the look of a clerk. Fen’Falon followed the group back into Haven, curious to see what manner of supporter the fledgeling Inquisition had gained.

“Lady Montilyet, a pleasure to have you join us,” Leliana said, greeting the new woman outside the Chantry.

Montilyet curtsied gracefully. “The pleasure, no, honour is mine, Sister Leliana.” Fen’Falon watched as they walked into the Chantry, likely headed for another discussion with Cassandra and Cullen.

“Are you going to simply lurk up there all day, Herald?” came a voice from below her. Solas called up to the rooftop Fen’Falon was seated on, a grin of amusement on his face. She hoped this meant he had forgiven her, though if the apostate’s memory was anything like her own, it would take more than a few weeks to forget the slight she had visited upon him. Perhaps this would be her opportunity to make nice with the other elf.

“Of course not!” she called back. Fen’Falon slid down the roof tiles and swung from the eaves to land lightly on her feet next to Solas.

“I have been trying to find you, actually,” she said.

“To find me? How interesting,” said Solas.

“Yes. I wished to apologise for my behaviour back when we closed the rift. You had saved my life, and I repaid you with rudeness. Please forgive me.”

“It is nothing,” Solas said. “Think no more of it. I have traveled long and far, through the Fade and the waking world. I have seen ancient memories and events for which there are no tales, and walked the ruins of peoples long forgotten. I have slept in ancient battlefields and newborn forests. The rudeness of a moment of stress is easily forgotten in the face of such wonders.”

“You sleep on ancient battlefields and in old ruins? Isn’t that...dangerous? Sorry, I’m sure you’re perfectly safe, but...wow. That is very impressive for an apostate mage,” Fen’Falon hoped her inept stumbling was not putting Solas off of talking to her.

“Safe enough,” he replied. “I do set wards you know. And if you leave some food - a fresh rabbit usually - the giant spiders are often content enough to leave me alone. But that is nothing compared to you - who has physically walked out from the Fade, an act not seen since Tevinter Magisters broke the Golden City.”

Fen’Falon realised that this elf was much, much older than her, to have seen so much.  She couldn’t wait to pick his brain for knowledge and history. “So, you’ve seen a lot then?” she asked.

“I have. Why do you ask?”

“Do you know how to close the breach? Permanently I mean?”

“I do. Unfortunately there is no way to do so without _you_ , Herald. And it will take far more power than you can carry on your own. A power equal to that which opened it. We do not have the time nor the inclination to make you nearly a god in your own right. My advice to Lady Cassandra was to attempt to recruit the rebel mages. A worthy use of their power. But without you, without that mark, it will mean nothing.”

“Do you not wish to be there too?” It had not escaped Fen’Falon’s notice that Solas was talking as though he did not intend to see this through.

“Why should I? I am an apostate mage, and an elvhen on top of that. And unlike you, I do not have the protection that being the ‘Herald of Andraste’ brings to you. _You_ they need to keep. I am simply a burden here, a worry in the back of their minds they would much rather be without.”

Fen’Falon had been worried about that, in truth. “We must stick together, you and I,” she told him. “We are the only two of our kind here. I will not let them harm you.” She would burn those who tried, those who would dare attack another elf in front of her. Maybe in doing so she could repay Solas for saving her life.

Solas looked thoughtful at that, turning his face from her to look out at the breach. He turned back to face her and nodded briefly. “I will stay then, at least until the breach is closed.”

“You weren’t planning on staying, were you?” Fen’Falon asked. “I do not blame you. They are all but keeping me prisoner here, this Inquisition. Cassandra says it is for my safety, but I chafe at not being allowed to return to my clan.”

“I was not. But perhaps you right. We mages should stick together, at least for now. It would be a shame to see my work to keep you alive go to waste should they decide you are guilty after all,” Solas said. Fen’Falon hoped that was not his way of being reassuring, for it made her more anxious than before to be reminded that some still thought her responsible for killing the Divine.

Fen’Falon saw that Cassandra was standing in the open doorway of the Haven Chantry, and they made eye contact. “I believe that Cassandra wants to talk to me,” she told Solas. “Can I ask you about your travels later?”

Solas favoured her with a tiny grin. “I would be happy to share my stories, Herald.”

Fen’Falon was part way to the Chantry when she called back, “And don’t call me that!”

Cassandra had indeed sought to speak with Fen’Falon and brought her to what was being referred to as the War Room. Cassandra and Solas had already spoken about recruiting the rebel mages, but the area around Redcliffe was more unstable than ever because of the rifts that had opened up in the Hinterlands of Ferelden.

“I see,” said Fen’Falon. “So I am a useful tool for the Inquisition. And what happens when I stop being useful? When we close the breach and the rifts are gone?”

Leliana and Cassandra traded glances. “You will be free to go home, Herald,” said Leliana.

“Look,” Fen’Falon started. “Don’t call me that. I’m not a herald of anything, most especially not your Andraste. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I just want to return to my clan and be normal again.”

Leliana spoke first. “It does not matter if you believe it or not, to many the story of how a golden woman shepherded you from the Fade makes clear evidence that you are the Herald of Andraste. Who else could that woman have been but Andraste herself, guiding you to us?”

“Leliana is right,” said Cassandra. “Whether it is true or not, the people believe. And perhaps in time, they will forget that they sought your execution.”

“Fine,” Fen’Falon grumbled. “So what now?”

“Now,” Cassandra said, and gestured to the large map tacked to the table in front of her, “Now we send you to Redcliffe. Find a way to these mages, to get them on our side. Close the rifts. Cullen has requested that we acquire horses while we are there, so do your best to convince Master Dennet to join us. After that, we shall see if we cannot close the breach.”

“Ah, I see,” said Fen’Falon. “So I am to be your errand boy, running to and fro to fix problems for you until I can be truly useful again.” She stalked out of the War Room, disgusted with herself for managing to get dragged into something of this magnitude. A short jump into a tree next to the Chantry saw her to the lowest level of the eaves, and her skill with climbing the rest of the way to the Chantry rooftop. No one looked for her up here, and she could see the whole of Haven and nearly to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, or at least where it used to be. Down below in the town, she could see as Cassandra and Cullen walked out of the Chantry, deep in conversation. Soldiers practiced with their weapons outside the town gate, in the makeshift camp Cullen had set up for them. Leliana prepared another of her birds to carry a message somewhere. And Solas stood outside near the apothecary, one finger tapping against his staff. Fen’Falon wondered if it was ‘later’ enough to ask him about the Fade.


	6. Key Power

The Dalish child was showing a curiosity he had not thought them capable of any longer. In his centuries-long sleep they had changed nearly beyond recognition, and in the centuries since they had become entrenched in their misremembered traditions. This child must have been a handful, though Solas, since it seemed that even as an adult her favourite question was why. Yesterday she had come to ask him about his “journeys in the Fade”.

“Solas, can I hear about one of your journeys in the Fade?” the woman had asked.

“What would you wish to know?” he had responded.

“Tell me about the battlefields - what were they like?”

“I saw Ostagar,” he had said. He told her of the Hero of Fereldan before she was the Hero, how she battled her way to the watchtower to light the fires before falling beneath the onslaught. How the second night Solas had slept there - he hadn’t really, he had been watching the battle from a safe distance, curious to see how this new Blight was met - he saw the battle again but this time it was the brave yet futile attempts of General Loghain to stem the tide before finally calling the retreat. The so-called Herald had asked why it was different, which one was truth.

“Is it not possible that both are true?” he had said. The other mage had looked thoughtful at his question before agreeing with him. She was turning out to be quite the surprise, given her background.

Today he had been asked by Cassandra and Leliana to accompany the woman into the Hinterlands, some nonsense about helping her close the rifts. The elven woman was quite proficient at it without his help, but he did admit to some curiosity about how she would deal with the volatile situation between mage and templar there, not to mention the common peoples. Solas also suspected that there was an artefact or two of elvhen origin hidden there, artefacts that he had helped Mythal to shape to place the Veil over the world.

It had been decidedly less grating to travel with Cassandra and Varric on the short trip from rift to breach, Solas soon discovered. Varric could not resist needling Cassandra about being a Seeker, and Cassandra, it seemed, was far too easy to rile up. The Dalish mage seemed to be trying her best to stay out of it, though it grew harder as the days passed.

One night Solas noticed that the Dalish woman was sneaking out of camp. Curious to see her purpose, he followed on wolf’s paws, just another creature in the darkness. The woman carried a bow and arrow - he watched as she nocked arrow to string and let fly at some movement in the dark. The wolf bounded over to see what this mage had brought down and sniffed the carcass appreciatively. A large fennec, neatly shot behind the front legs.

“Shoo!” the elven woman said to him. “Go on you silly wolf, shoo! That is _my_ fennec!” Solas’s jaws opened in a wolf grin, tongue lolling out to laugh at the picture the otherwise put-together woman painted. She had one hand on a hip, holding her bow, and the other was making shooing motions at him. A look of incredulity on her face, the elf looked ready to cast at Solas to make him leave. Of course, she did not realise to whom she was speaking, or else she likely would not have dared. Wolf-friend indeed! How few Dalish would have tried to shoo a wolf instead of shooting it, he wondered? Few, Solas knew. He had been shot at many times over the centuries.

He tilted his head at her and closed his jaws before fading back into the woods, using magic to mask his presence. The elven woman carefully removed her arrow from the fennec and tied its ears to her belt before she walked back to camp. Solas ran ahead of her, shifting back into his elvhen form and pretending to be asleep in his tent. A most curious Dalish elf, he thought as he drifted off.

The Fade was not a place of kindness, and this night was no different. Mythal sought him out.

“How goes our work, Dread Wolf?” Mythal asked. Her voice was dry as sandpaper, matched to her weathered appearance in this age. She had added more armour since the last time they spoke, a reflection of the dangers now plaguing Thedas.

“Slowly, my friend,” he said. “It seems the breach is making it more difficult to search.” They stood in the hall of a proud castle, the castle in whose ruins he now slept in the waking world.

“A pity. There is a way, is there not? To close this breach?”

“There is. A Dalish woman had acquired a piece of my power, shaped to be a key. It allows her to close the rifts, and with enough power even the breach.”

“Your power. Now _that_ would be an interesting tale, I feel. You shall have to tell me how it happened when we are finished, my friend.”

“And I shall. Until then, it seems I can bend this Inquisition partially to our purpose, Mythal. They will serve unknowingly.”

“Excellent.” Mythal looked to one side, studying something unseen to Solas. “Your companions are waking, Dread Wolf. Go to them.”

Solas gave a slight bow of his head, then exerted his will on the Fade. He sat up in his tent.

* * *

 

Three days and an indeterminate number of fights later, the small Inquisition group had managed to clear out the Templars, and get Cullen’s men started on building watchtowers near the farms. Rifts were closed, save for a few that seemed guarded by terrible creatures, like the Fereldan Frostback they had caught sight of in a closed-in valley. A rippling sensation on the fabric of Veil drew his attention.

“There is an artefact of my people nearby,” Solas informed the group.

The Dalish’s eyes lit up. “An elven artefact?” she asked. “What does it do?”

“I believe it was part of a series of similar creations, designed to strengthen the Veil in places where my people lived. If we could activate it again, it could prevent more rifts from opening in the area.” Solas hoped that the woman did not notice that he said ‘my’ instead of ‘our’ - Mythal protect him if she started asking about that. He would have to come up with a good reason, and soon. Solas did not think slips like that would go unnoticed for long.

“Then we will find it!” the woman said. She led the group towards the nearby elvhen ruins, and the sounds of fighting. An elven apostate fought against two shades just outside the entrance, and Cassandra rushed in to help. One of these days Lady Cassandra was going to do that and she would fall, Solas knew.

They battled their way into the ruins - an ancient waypoint of some kind, Solas could not recall what its original purpose had been. A Veilfire torch sat in one of the walls. A test, he thought, see if the Herald can light it with her mark.

“Herald,” he called out, making the Dalish woman wince. “That is a Veilfire torch. See if you can light it - it will help us find the artefact.” The Herald raised her casting hand - conveniently the one with his mark upon it - and brought her will to bear on the torch. It lit with a flash, the bluish-green flame burning brightly for the first time in more than a century. She lit a smaller torch from the wall brazier and began to search the ruined room for his artefact.

“Touch the torch to it and focus, Herald,” he said. “It should activate.” She did as Solas said and the globe-like artefact lit up the same colour as the rifts, the colour of the Fade. The elven woman they had encountered at the entrance bent down to pick something off the floor near the artefact.

“Ah, it seems the gods have left something for me,” she said. Solas bristled.

“That is not yours to take,” Solas said.

“What is it?” asked the Herald.

“A relic of my people,” he answered. It was an amulet from the time of Arlathan, from a time when he had still tolerated devout of his own.

“ _Your_ people?” The Herald looked shocked. “Are you somehow more Dalish than even I am, Solas?” She turned to the strange woman. “I will take it, perhaps my Keeper will know what it is.”

The other woman nodded and handed over the amulet. “Perhaps you are right. I will stay here to study these ruins.”

“Thank you,” said the Herald. She glared at Solas as she walked out of the ruin, leading the group back into the weak sunlight.

 


	7. Message For You

Fen’Falon was unhappy with Solas. Just where did he get the right to behave as though her people’s ancient history was his to claim? He may not have been a city elf - he certainly didn’t behave like the ones she had met - but he absolutely wasn’t Dalish either. Fen’Falon glanced at the amulet in her hands. It was a simple thing, made of white gold and a small piece of larimar, carved to look like a wolf’s head from the side. If it truly was of the ancient elves, then why was it made with Fen’Harel’s image, she wondered. Maybe she ought to ask - no, she was angry with him right now. She would research this on her own.

Camp that night was strained, to say the least. Fen’Falon was pointedly not talking to Solas, payback for his earlier arrogance. She knew it was childish, but it was either that or have a rather loud argument with him, and she did not want to damage the tentative trust the others were starting to show in her.

The saving grace came the following morning, when one of Leliana’s messenger ravens found them. The mages in Redcliffe had so far ignored their little group, so it was a welcome relief that they might have a chance to talk with Chantry officials, even if it meant trekking out to Val Royeaux for the privilege. Cassandra led the group and their newly-acquired horses back to Haven for resupply and information.

 

* * *

 

Fen’Falon had so hoped to avoid an argument this week. “I don’t see why I need to go to Val Royeaux,” she said testily. She really didn’t. Her job here was to close rifts and eventually seal the breach, not talk to Chantry Mothers in the middle of a busy city.

“You are the Herald of Andraste,” Leliana said. “If you go, it may be the leverage we need to sway them.”

“I’m not the bloody Herald,” Fen’Falon muttered. She ran a hand through her dark hair in consternation. It was becoming a near-daily occurrence, this denial of being some mystical hero. If she was lucky, one day no one would call her that anymore and she could just Fen’Falon again, back with her clan.

Cassandra put in her two cents. “Look, either you go and I can protect you, or you stay and I make no guarantee.”

Fen’Falon grimaced. Cassandra did have a point - if the warrior left Fen’Falon here, it was only a matter of time before the other Inquisition leaders were distracted enough that an ill-wisher could assassinate the Dalish elf.

“Fine,” the elf said. “I’ll bloody go. _Fenedhis_ , this sucks.”  She made as if to leave the War Room.

“Hold on,” Cullen said. “It can’t be just you and Lady Cassandra. You should take Solas and either Varric or that Grey Warden we found in the Hinterlands. The four of you should be able to handle yourselves, and that way I can keep our soldiers here in case of an attack.”

“Whatever. Fine. Just tell me when we’re bloody leaving and I’ll be ready.” Fen’Falon walked out of the War Room and past Mother Giselle. Once out of the Chantry, she looked over to where she knew Solas would be and wished that she could talk to him. Pride kept her from doing so, however. It had been a few days now since the incident in Redcliffe’s outskirts and if Solas wasn’t going to apologise for stepping on her toes, well, then why should she consider apologising to him? Her Keeper had always said that stubbornness would be Fen’Falon’s undoing.

Instead of going to badger Solas about his adventures in the Fade, Fen’Falon took herself out the main gate of Haven and onto the training grounds to watch Cullen’s recruits. They were raw, hadn’t yet been molded into true soldiers, and Fen’Falon wondered if they would truly be up to the task of defending Haven. She watched as one pair of recruits managed to completely miss hitting each others’ weapons, the shorter of them falling over as he went out of balance.

“Enjoying yourself?” a quiet voice asked from behind her. Solas. Fen’Falon sighed.

“I was,” she said. Disdain crept into her voice despite her best efforts.

“And you are not now?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“Oh, _now_ you want to ask me things? But not in the ruins, when we found an artefact of our people? An artefact me and my clan could use to reclaim some of our lost knowledge? An artefact you tried to claim for your own, when you barely even know what those ruins stood for?” Fen’Falon spat. This is why she had been avoiding him. It was all too easy to get worked up by this lost elf. His very presence goaded her and grated on her. She turned around to face the insufferable elven mage. A mistake. Solas did not move back, which meant they were in far closer proximity to each other than she wanted to be right then. Her eyes were about level with his lips, and she couldn’t help but notice - no. No. She would not blush in front of him. She didn’t even think of him that way!

“You know what that amulet is?” Solas asked her. “Do you understand what it represents?” It almost sounded as if _he_ knew. But how could that be? He wasn’t even Dalish.

Fen’Falon took a step back, hating herself for appearing to back down from him. “I know it’s a carving of the Dread Wolf,” she said. Solas looked startled. “What, you didn’t think I wouldn’t recognise the demon from our tales?” Fen’Falon gave a bitter laugh.

“That is not it. I am more surprised that you have kept it, knowing that.” Solas looked like he wanted to say more, but Fen’Falon didn’t press him.

“Well, my name means wolf-friend in our ancient tongue, if you did not already know. I have always felt a strange connection to wolves.” Fen’Falon turned away from Solas. That same connection had not helped make her any friends amongst the clan. The hunters had stopped letting her accompany them, for she always interrupted them if they were about to shoot a wolf. Her peers refused to speak with her if she was at the statue of Fen’Harel that they kept on the edges of camp. Solas did not need to know these things, however.

“I know, Fen’Falon,” Solas said. “I may not be a Dalish, but I have learned more in my journeys through the Fade than even your Keepers could claim to have once known.”

Fen’Falon thought he sounded arrogant, but did her best to keep it from showing on her face. She owed this man her life. Shit. Maybe she should just apologise for her behaviour. No. No, she was not the one in the wrong here. The Dalish woman huffed in disapproval. She was starting to wonder if he said things like that on purpose, to get a rise out of her the way Varric got rises out of Cassandra.

“And you’ve never thought to share this with us? To help us reclaim our past?” Fen’Falon asked him.

Solas looked weary. “I have tried. Many times. Not all the clans were as kind to me as some. Flat-ear was the kindest I was called.”

Fen’Falon had the grace to feel guilty, her anger leaving her. She herself had called city-elves ‘flat-ear’ a time or two, more frequently in her thoughts. Now she wondered if some were simply lost, like Solas, elves without a clan to impart the vallaslin, but without the grouping of the city elves as well.

“I— I am sorry, Solas.” Oh, how it hurt to say those words to him. “ _Ir abelas_ , _lethallin_. I hope my clan was never one of those.” Fen’Falon was nearly certain Lavellan had been, though. She had largely escaped the clan’s insular nature with the support of Keeper Deshanna, who always encouraged her inquisitiveness. She knew her peers were not nearly so open-minded as she - they would not have stayed a moment longer than necessary in the presence of shemlen.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” Solas replied. Fen’Falon was surprised that he actually did know the ancient tongue. She would have to rethink her opinions of him, perhaps. “Did you want to see what we could discover about the amulet?” he asked her.

Fen’Falon grinned at him, her annoyance forgotten in the wake of new knowledge to be gained. “Absolutely. Let us see what we can find out about our ancient peoples.”

 


	8. Glowy Elfy Shit

Val Royeaux was…Fen’Falon felt she did not have to words to properly describe it. White glittering, filled with poncy people in masks, stunning. The city had been amazing, not in the least because it was her first time in a proper city and not one of the little towns and villages they had been traipsing through. Val Royeaux had been both a success and a failure for the Inquisition.

Failure because the Templars had intervened. The Chantry Mothers speaking in the marketplace clearly had never had any intention of buying into the Herald of Andraste business, especially when it turned out that their precious Herald was a Dalish elven mage. Just being a mage would have been a bitter lemon, but a Dalish on top of that? Absolutely not an option. The Templars had stormed off, completely stonewalling Cassandra’s attempt to talk to the Lord Seeker.

And then Fen’Falon had nearly been skewered by an arrow! With a strange message attached. On their way out of the marketplace the group had been approached by an Orlesian Circle mage with an invitation for the Herald to attend a party at the request of Madame de Fer. And then again by the First Enchanter and leader of the rebel mages, Fiona, who asked to meet with the Inquisition soon in Redcliffe.  Fen’Falon had also brought a foul-mouthed city elf into the group somehow, who turned out to the person responsible for the arrow message. She wasn’t quite ready to forgive the city elf - Sera she said her name was - for nearly shooting her. Stung pride would heal in time though, as the Keeper liked to say.

The half week to Val Royeaux had been a tense trip filled with petty disagreement between herself and Solas as she forgot to be nice to him, and the constant banter between Cassandra and Varric. The half week back, with all that had occurred in the city, was measurably less so. In the wake of the Templars, Fen’Falon had decided that she would do her best to keep from judging her companions. Cassandra had seemed genuinely hurt by the Lord Seeker refusal to acknowledge her. Varric seemed at home under the open sky and in the city, a complete opposite to all she knew of dwarves. And Solas...well, he was quiet. Until they met Sera.

Sera was doing her best to make the return trip to Haven memorable, at least. Sera had taken to calling Solas all kinds of unflattering things ranging from “elfy” to “baldy” to “shine-head”. The last, at least, had made Fen’Falon and Varric laugh, much to Solas’s consternation. It was less funny when Solas did his best  to stop reacting to Sera, so Sera set in on Fen’Falon instead.

“So, you’re like, the glowy Herald of Andraste and shit, yeah?” Sera asked.

“No,” said Fen’Falon. “I’m not. Everyone keeps calling me that.”

“Fuck off, glowy. Y’sure your trip outta the Fade didn’t muck with your brain too?”

“Positive,” Fen’Falon said. Well, mostly positive. She felt it would be rather hard to tell, given the nature of the Fade. Who knew what the dangers of entering physically were.

“Then ‘ow come you’re like, leading everyone and shit?”

“I’m not. I’m just here to close the breach and go home.”

“Yeah? Home to more elfy elf shit and stuff? Where’s the fun in that?” Sera made a face at Fen’Falon, showing the Dalish elf what she thought of that.

“Yes. Home. Now _please_ shut up, Sera.” If Sera didn’t shut up soon, Fen’Falon was going to find a way to use magic to make it happen. If the choice for elven company was now Sera or Solas, well, she was going to really have to make nice with Solas. There was no way she was going to voluntarily spend time with the foul city-elf.

Sera made a pout before bounding off to scout ahead.

“Oh thank Mythal she’s gone,” Fen’Falon breathed.

“Indeed,” Solas said from next to her. “I had not realised it was possible to be such a child while being an adult.” Fen’Falon laughed - it was true. Sera was the most immature elf she had ever met.

“I think she’s worse than even my clan’s children, Solas.” Fen’Falon caught the edges of Solas’s mouth tilting upwards in amusement before. She wondered what he looked like properly grinning, the smile lighting up his grey eyes. Over the past week she had noticed that alone of the group, Solas seemed to really understand her, understand the drive for knowledge and history. She caught herself thinking about him more frequently, wondering what he would think of an item, of a story, of the Dalish tales about their gods.

In the evenings when they made camp, Fen’Falon sat near Solas and he would share his journeys through the Fade with her. Frequently the stories were related to the amulet they had found, or the ruins they caught glimpses of on their way up the mountain and through the pass. Sometimes though, he would tell of spirits he had befriended in the Fade, ones who had not yet been twisted by mages to their darker counterparts. Spirits of Wisdom seemed to be his favourites, though sometimes he came across Compassion or Purpose. Fen’Falon grew to love those stories, giving her an insight into the workings of the Fade that had been beyond the abilities of her Keeper to teach her. Keeper Deshanna had helped Fen’Falon to walk the Fade without fear, to keep the demons from her mind, but had never said that there could be truly helpful spirits there.

By the time they reached Haven, everyone was sick of Sera’s dirty little commentary, but Fen’Falon and Solas had finally reached a point that could almost be called friendship. An easy companionship of sorts. Fen’Falon wondered if Solas would stay with the Inquisition once she had left. She didn’t think so - it seemed he was only sticking around out of an interest in the mark on her hand and its connection to the breach. Maybe he would let her travel with him through the ancient ruins he seemed so fond of.

Predictably, Sera made a beeline for the tavern, Varric following her. Fen’Falon assumed they were both going to get drunk and sing bawdy tavern songs. It seemed for some unfathomable reason to be an enjoyable pastime for the _shem_. Fen’Falon dropped her pack off at the house she was using and grabbed a change of clothes. She would bathe in the river, cleanse the dirt of more than a week on the road from her clothes, and then see what could be had for a meal.

There was an excellent spot upstream, away from the regular washing spots of the town and camp. The chill of the wintry river felt amazing on her bare skin, but she knew not to linger in it for too long. A quick scrub with the river-bed sand saw the day’s grime away, and soon Fen’Falon was enjoying the simple pleasure of washing her things with no one to see.

A twig snapped a little ways behind her, just enough time to bolt out of the river and snatch her clothes to cover herself. Not out of a sense of modesty for herself  - the Dalish truly did not care about such things - but for whoever was coming upon her. She had noticed during the weeks camping and traveling with Varric and Cassandra that they cared a great deal about seeing her bare body, and so had gotten into the habit of hastily grabbing nearby fabric to keep them from stammering and blushing and apologising entirely too much.

It was the wolf from the night in the Hinterlands. A pale gray, nearly white coat made the creature seem old for its kind and made the wolf’s bright blue eyes sparkle in the fading sunlight. It looked almost exactly like the wolf from the ancient amulet she had found, but everyone knew the Dread Wolf had six eyes red as blood, with fur as black as pitch.

Fen’Falon breathed a sigh. “I thought you were a person, you know,” she told it. A quick surreptitious glance told her the wolf was male. The wolf grinned at her. “Well, go on then. Get. I have business to finish here, ser wolf.” The wolf gave a wag of its tail and loped off into the woods, out to do only Fen’Harel knew what with a town so close. She hoped no one would shoot it - it was a gorgeous wolf for its kind. And apparently without pack - what a terrible thing, to be a pack animal and yet alone in the world. Rather like being a Dalish elf surrounded by humans.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first time ever, I find this fic writing itself faster than I can write. I have pieces that go all over the place, and even an AU chapter! (I'll post a note when that becomes an option). So I'm actually ahead on chapters for now, going by my "post daily" schedule. :O
> 
> Just thought I'd share that with y'all.


	9. Strange Time

He had not meant to disturb her. Sometimes the freedom of being a wolf eased the burden of what he must do to help the world, to help Mythal. Solas wondered if the Dalish woman had ever had a lover, back in her clan. A sense of jealousy washed over him at the thought, before he caught himself. He could not allow the Dalish woman to distract him, no matter how attractive she might be, even when caught by surprise. So he jogged off as asked and shifted back into his elvhen form before he walked into Haven proper, doing his best to keep her from his thoughts and failing.

Something had changed on the road from Val Royeaux. Something about her suddenly spoke to him. Solas supposed it was borne out of respect: respect for her intelligence, and for her willingness to question her own ingrained beliefs in the face of contradicting evidence. His amulet had served as a great example of that. He had explained to her that to have carved an amulet so carefully and inlaid it with an otherwise uncommon gem meant that the ancient elvhen had revered Fen’Harel, not reviled him as the Dalish did now. Fen’Falon had looked shocked at the very idea, then thoughtful as she considered. Solas had never thought he could come to respect one of the Dalish so readily. This woman challenged his assumptions, changed the way he thought of the People, all without trying, even as he challenged her.

Now they were back in Haven, it was all business for the Inquisition’s leaders. It seemed they would be listening to his suggestion to approach the mages for the power necessary to seal the breach permanently. Once done, he did not think it would be too difficult to track down Corypheus and remove his orb from the magister’s possession. From there, with the orb already unlocked, Solas hoped it would be a simple matter to activate enough of the Veil relics to strengthen it beyond tearing.

Solas stood outside his borrowed hut and watched the breach, studied it with his magic as best he could from this distance. The more information about it he could give to the Inquisition, the better. Movement from the corner of an eye, the sense of a mage’s aura, and he turned to see who it was. The Dalish mage. Of course. Even from a distance she managed to grab his attention unknowingly. Her auburn hair was still wet, bound back into its customary short horsetail, and looked more red in the sunset light as she returned to her house. To run his hands through her unbound hair as he shared stories from his past…

Solas shook his head. Even when he tried he could not keep her from invading his thoughts. If he did not know better, he would be tempted to wonder if Fen’Falon had cast some kind of spell on him. It was not in her nature though, now that he had gotten the opportunity to observe her up close.

The Dalish woman exited her house and headed for the Chantry, likely for another forced meeting with the Inquisition leaders. On the road, she had confided in him that she hated being used like this, being held captive when all she wanted to do was return to her clan. He did not blame her. A spirit such as hers was not intended for this sort of thing, for becoming chained to a cause that was not even hers.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, after meetings that Solas could hear the shouting of from outside the Chantry, he, Varric, Cassandra, and Fen’Falon set off for Redcliffe.

Something was very wrong here. The rift outside the town felt....almost slick. As though something had already been done to it. When the usual crowd of demons poured out, the rift twisted unnaturally, and suddenly everyone around Solas seemed to be moving much too quickly. Somehow this rift was twisting time as well as the Veil. Slowly, far too slowly, Solas made his way out of the time field to support the rest of the group.

Barrier magic to keep Cassandra from getting her fool head ripped off. Ice and fire to keep the Terrors off the Herald. Varric...would be fine, he thought. That unusual crossbow of his did an excellent job at slaying enemies before they could reach the dwarf. They had dispatched the Terrors and a pair of wraiths when the rift twisted in a way that indicated the tear in the Veil could be closed.

“Quickly!” Solas shouted at the Herald. The other elf raised her marked hand and Solas watched as her power flowed through it out to the rift. With the woman’s power brought to bear, the rift twisted tighter and tighter until the barest wisp of fell green remained. As sweat broke out on the Dalish elf’s forehead, the rift closed entirely and the woman sighed in relief.

“Did that one feel...wrong, to the rest of you?” she asked the group.

“There was something strange about it,” Solas said. “Some sort of time magic? But how…”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Fen’Falon cursed. “Let’s make contact with these mages and get out of here before more of those happen. I _really_ don’t want to do that again.”

“Agreed, elfy,” said Varric. Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes at the dwarf. Varric raised his hands in a defensive gesture and grinned. Solas thought the dwarf must have picked that up from Sera.

The rift gone, the guards at Redcliffe’s gate finally saw fit to open and let the Inquisition group inside the town. Redcliffe was larger than it had been before the Blight, interestingly enough. Solas supposed he should not be surprised, it had been more than a decade after all. According to the invitation they had been given in Val Royeaux, they were to meet at the Gull & Lantern, Redcliffe’s tavern and inn.

The inn was in better shape than much of the buildings, likely bolstered by the trade route. They entered cautiously, since Leliana had suggested that it would be a trap. It was, just not of the combat variety. As it turned out, First Enchanter Fiona had been threatened into swearing herself and the rebel mages into the service of Magister Gereon Alexius of Tevinter.

It seemed that the more people who heard of the Herald and her story, the more they believed her to hold the power in the Inquisition. Solas would have laughed if it would not have been likely to ruin the negotiations. They needed the mages badly - or the templars, but if _that_ was how the Inquisition intended to close the rift, Solas would leave regardless of the consequences. Magister Alexius would only deal with the Herald.

As Fen’Falon and Alexius were about to get into the semantics, Alexius’s son, Felix, returned from some errand. Felix stumbled on his way up the short step to them and Fen’Falon caught the boy before he hit the floor. Alexius suddenly grew extremely concerned and shepherded the boy out, saying that he would continue this another time. Fiona and the other mages followed the magister out.

“Well, that was odd,” said the Herald. She opened her left hand to reveal a note, passed to her by Felix when he fell. “Apparently this is a bigger trap than we planned for. Felix would like to meet us in the Chantry as quickly as possible.”

“Well then,” Varric said. “Off we go.”

Fen’Falon led the group to the Chantry after asking one of the Chantry Sisters how to get to it. Inside they found a mage dressed in white trying to fight off the demons by himself. The rift felt off, like the one from outside the town, and it was difficult to place the altered time and avoid those patches to fight effectively. With three mages though, this rift was cleaned up faster than the first, and the Herald closed it just as quickly. If he wasn’t mistaken, Solas thought that closing these was coming easier to Herald, almost as if she was adapting to his power, and his power to her.

 

* * *

 

They brought Dorian of House Pavus - the mage in white from the Chantry -  back with them to Haven. He insisted on being allowed to accompany them to confront Alexius, when the time came. Solas and Fen’Falon were seen regularly with the Tevinter mage throughout the week as they picked his brain for information about the time magic.

“Look, I don’t really know why it’s working now,” Dorian told them. “I helped Alexius develop it, yes, but we could never get the damn thing working.”

“Maybe it has something to do with the breach?” Fen’Falon said. “Somehow the spell you developed needs to tear into the Veil in order to function?” Solas was surprised that she had thought of that - it was an excellent guess on this problem.

“That could be it, I guess,” said Dorian. “It would certainly explain why it’s working _now_ of all times.”

Solas traded Dorian tales of the Fade for current news from Tevinter whenever the Herald was kidnapped into the War Room for planning. Since she was what Alexius seemed to be after, the other Inquisition leaders had decided that she would get to make decisions about how they would handle the Tevinter problem. He also listened as Fen’Falon told Dorian the legends of the Dalish in return for discussions on the nature of magic, and how Tevinter treated its mages as opposed to the rest of Thedas. Her curiosity was oddly refreshing to Solas; he never tired of hearing her ask questions. Solas hoped that there would never come a day when Fen’Falon stopped asking questions - and he vowed to hurt whoever made that happen.

And then promptly denied ever having thought such a strange and possessive thing.

 


	10. Orlesian Ponce

She hated parties. Fen’Falon had no idea how or why this Vivienne de Fer wanted some upjumped knife-ear at her fancy Orlesian party, and yet, here she was. At least it was a break from the near-incessant planning for Redcliffe in the War Room. Fen’Falon hadn’t felt this uncomfortable since the time Keeper Deshanna had caught her and a young male elf from clan Sabrae _experimenting_. And she almost wished that’s what she was getting caught doing now, instead of arguing with some poncy nobleman who probably needed his mother’s help getting his ridiculous hat on.

“Now, dear, that’s no way to treat a guest in my own home,” a cool voice carried across the hall. The nobleman was frozen in place by a gestured spell. Fen’Falon raised an eyebrow at the casual display of magic - it seemed this mage-templar war was at least good for desensitising people to the use of magic on a daily basis. A woman with dark skin came down the grand stairs, looking fierce in a white and silver dress. A headpiece reminiscent of dragon or qunari horns sat on her head, and she wore no mask. According to Josephine, that meant this woman was likely a major player in Orlais, one for whom her social status was all but assured. Or she was a social pariah, but given how big the mansion was, that was extremely unlikely.

“Madame de Fer, I presume,” Fen’Falon said with a bow. Josephine Montilyet had coached her until she could run the conversation with her eyes shut and hands bound. When she had left the safety of Lavellan’s aravels, Fen’Falon had not expected to end up coached in Orlesian niceties. Josephine had also curled the elf’s hair, much to her disgust. It would take more than a week to undo whatever Josephine had put in to keep the shape from degrading.

“I am,” de Fer said. “And you must be the Herald of Andraste. You do your people credit, to rise so far.” Fen’Falon bristled. The woman may not have said it outright, but the implication of ‘knife-ear’ would have taken a deaf person to miss. The implied insult to the rest of her people was enough to make Fen’Falon wish that Josephine hadn’t all but demanded that de Fer be recruited to the Inquisition. Josephine had also insisted that the Dalish woman wear a ballgown, which Fen’Falon had adamantly refused, instead choosing to wear a stripped-down version of her usual armour.

The two mages made their way through the political niceties before coming to the meat of the matter.

“I invited you here, dear, to see what sort of person this so-called Herald was,” de Fer said.

“I’m just trying to close the breach, Madame. Nothing more. I certainly don’t claim to be the Herald.”

“The sad truth of the world is that your claims do not matter in the slightest, child.” Fen’Falon clenched a fist to keep herself from striking the noblewoman. “What matters is what everyone else thinks of you, and how you can use that image to your advantage.”

“So the Inquisition is somehow to your advantage then?”

“You’ll have to be less forthright than that my dear, if you want to survive the Game of Orlais. But yes. I wish to see this Inquisition for myself. Perhaps we can be of use to each other.”

“Fine. Come to Haven. Lady Montilyet will be overjoyed to have you, I’m sure.” Fen’Falon sketched a rude bow and walked out of the party and the mansion. Another minute listening to that condescending tone of voice and she really would have hit the Empress’s personal enchanter. Then Josephine would have scolded Fen’Falon, Leliana would have to send out agents to undo the damage, and Cullen would probably set extra guards on her even if Cassandra stood over Fen’Falon in her sleep. Fen’Falon wondered what Solas would have thought of that course of action - he probably would side with Josephine. He seemed to care about that sort of thing.

 

* * *

 

Haven saw the return of Fen’Falon in her full armour, ready at a moment’s notice to do battle. Vivienne was apparently nearly a full week behind her. Fen’Falon wondered if it had taken the woman most of that week just to pack, rather than travel. Once she felt comfortable in her own skin again, Fen’Falon set off to talk to Solas. On her way back to Haven from Vivienne’s party, she realised that for all their talk before, she didn’t really know all that much about him.

“Hello,” Solas said. Fen’Falon wondered if she would ever need to look for him - he seemed to have claimed the stairs in front of the apothecary as ‘his spot’. The same way Sera was the tavern, Cassandra the training dummies, and Varric a central campfire. Even when the person in question was gone, the rank and file of the Inquisition did not dare take those positions. Once, Fen’Falon had caught a guard trying to sit on Varric’s stump and laughed as an older guard warned him off.

“Hello Solas,” Fen’Falon said. “I was thinking–”

“A dangerous prospect,” he interjected. Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes at him.

“I was thinking, on the way back from that damn party, that I don’t really know all that much about you.”

“Oh? And why would you feel that necessary?” Solas asked.

Fen’Falon tried to think of a way to phrase it that wasn’t ‘I like being nosy’. “Because I respect you,” she said. “And I would like to hear more about you.”

“Oh, well, if that’s the reason,” said Solas. “Ask away.”

“That’s it? Ask away?” Fen’Falon shook her head. Ever the short one, Solas, even though he was taller than her. In fact, he was tall enough that her head would fit nicely into the crook of his shoulder against his chest. Where on Thedas had _that_ thought come from she wondered. She and Solas were _friends_ , Creators curse it. That was _it_.

“Are you still there?” Solas asked. Shit. He’d noticed her distraction.

“I– yeah, I am. Sorry. Anyways, you mentioned that you traveled to see more of the Fade–why?”

“The Fade draws partially from your imagination,” he said. “In order to see new places in the Fade, you must also see new places in the real world. There was a time when I spent most of my days in the Fade itself, waking only when necessary.”

“Well, obviously you woke up more than that.”

“Yes, of course. How else would I have gotten here?”

“And it isn’t dangerous, wandering the Fade like that?”

“You trained, did you not, to keep out bad influence while dreaming in the Fade? I did as well. That strength of will has led to an indomitable focus in you, an enjoyable side benefit of your training.”

Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow. Her indomitable focus? Sounded like someone had been paying more close attention to her that he would like to admit. A wicked grin threatened to break out on her face. “My indomitable focus, huh?”

“I would assume so,” Solas said. He was backtracking, trying to make it sound offhand she thought. Had he been...flirting with her? Gods what a thought. “After all, I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be...fascinating.” Solas seemed to purr that last word.

Fen’Falon felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Shit. He was flirting. Um. Now _she_ was the one who needed to backtrack. She had never intended for this to happen. “Hmmm,” she said, eloquent as always.

Solas smirked at her.

“As fascinating as your spirit friends?” was the best she could return fire with.

“Less so, if anything.”

“But...they aren’t really people,” Fen’Falon said. Solas’s grin vanished.

“Are the others of the Inquisition only people because they walk Thedas? Are they somehow defined by their features such as hair and eyes and not their personality?”

Fen’Falon winced. “Fair point, I concede.” She raised her hands palms out, a defensive gesture.

“I enjoy getting to know spirits in the Fade. They are, for the most part, without prejudice.”

“You have a unique perspective, Solas,” the Dalish elf said. Maybe she could turn the tables on him by flirting back. If it worked, it could be the beginning of a new game, she thought.

“I try. And you haven’t answered my questions.”

“I don’t see why not.” A sly look crept into Fen’Falon’s eyes. “I look forward to helping you make new friends, Solas.”

“I– well. Yes.”

“And now _you_ haven’t answered me.” Fen’Falon grinned wickedly to see Solas off-balance like this. She was going to have to remember this later. “Oh, I think I see Cassandra beckoning again. Off I go, like a good little helper.”

She left Solas behind with his thoughts and her sarcasm.

 


	11. Naked Dancing

Fen’Falon found that Dorian Pavus was a charmer. His quick wit and sharp tongue seemed tailor-made for getting a laugh out of her, even as she learned about Tevinter from him. They also talked about the time magic Alexius had used, and the cult he belonged to - the Venatori.Dorian had insisted on accompanying whoever else was sent with her to meet with Alexius, so she was determined to learn more about the man who may end up fighting with her.

“So have you ever danced naked in the pale moonlight?” Dorian said. White teeth flashed against olive skin as he grinned. Fen’Falon was fairly sure that he was teasing her - two could play at that game!

“Well,” she said, grinning in return. “There’s all those holidays, and then the celebrations of new life, and then–”

Dorian raised a hand to stop her list with a laugh. “Enough, I get the point.”

“Do all Tevinter magisters look like you?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Well, no. But I’m also not a magister. You people outside the Imperium use magister and mage interchangeably where we’re concerned, but really a magister is someone who’s part of the magisterium. Sort of the ruling body of Tevinter, if you will.”

“Oh, that makes more sense. I’m sure Tevinter would be better received if they were all as pretty as you though, Dorian,” Fen’Falon said. The human chuckled a bit and grinned at her. He laughed so easily, as though he had never seen someone die. The two mages were on their way to the War Room for what would be the final meeting prior to Redcliffe. Given her talks with Dorian, it seemed unlikely that Magister Alexius would be remotely inclined to let them use the mages. The meeting was far less fun than talking with Dorian, however.

“The Herald cannot go!” Cullen shouted. Fen’Falon glared at the blond man.

“Look, Cullen, he said he’d only talk to me. That means I have to be there. And yes, I know it’s probably a trap.” Fen’Falon really hated arguing with these people - they were all so much more important than her!

“A trap we know of is easier to slip than one we do not,” Leliana said. The spymaster was softspoken but devout, and seemed to truly believe that Fen’Falon was sent by Leliana’s Maker to help them. Fen’Falon had given up on changing Leliana’s mind about that in the months since the breach. Even Cassandra was starting to buy into it, much to Fen’Falon’s disgust.

“See, Leliana agrees with me!”

“Now,” said Dorian, “we just need a way in.”

“Well we can’t go in the front door,” Cullen said.

“Obviously,” Fen’Falon replied. “Is there another way in? Varric tells me you were there during the Blight, Leliana.”

“I was, yes,” the spy said. “There were tunnels - an emergency escape for the family. We could sneak in agents through those to take the castle.”

“And get our men slaughtered,” Cullen said.

“What we need,” Josphine piped in, “is a distraction. Something to keep Alexius’s attention off the tunnels. The Herald should go to meet him.”

“No–”

“What?”

“That might work,” Leliana said. “He will have to focus on the Herald, and my agents can sneak into the castle to pick off his guards. She will be perfectly safe.”

“Then it’s decided,” said Fen’Falon. “I’ll go in with Dorian, Solas, and Cassandra. Leliana will send her agents in, and we’ll get the mages away from Alexius. Should be fun.”

Dorian nudged the elf with his elbow and grinned to show his appreciation of her sarcasm. The other Inquisition leaders looked less than pleased with the plan, but it wasn’t really as if they had a better option. There was no way Fen’Falon was going to help them approach templars for help, that was for certain. Templars would likely try to make both her and Solas tranquil simply for being apostates, no matter that their training left them better off than even Circle magi.

* * *

 

The townsfolk of Redcliffe nearly threw the Inquisition a party when they came through on their way to the castle. Inquisition soldiers had been clearing out the remaining pockets of power-mad apostates and berserk templars in the intervening weeks since Fen’Falon’s last trip in.

Redcliffe castle was magnificent. It was easy to see how it survived the Blight - high stone walls and its location on the lake made it immeasurably defensible. Fen’Falon was glad that Leliana’s agents were using a secret tunnel to get in - she felt less nervous knowing her group would have more backup. It really felt like _her_ group, too - even Cassandra deferred to Fen’Falon, since Alexius was sure to have spies in the town who reported back to him. The Dalish elf did not like being in charge, but she would suffer through it for this mission if she had to.

The castle gate was manned by Tevinter soldiers and rebel mages, with more who stood in the courtyard. Fen’Falon wondered what Alexius had been expecting, for this to be their welcome. When the group got to the throne room, Dorian had slunk off to hide, and they were stopped by a high ranking guard of sorts.

“Just the Herald,” the guard said. Fen’Falon looked at her group, then back at the guard.

“Either my friends join me, or I turn and walk away,” she told him. The guard didn’t look surprised - he had expected an answer to that extent. He moved out of their path and nodded to the Tevinter soldiers in the room to let the group pass. Fen’Falon took point, with Solas and Cassandra carefully studying the room from behind her. Red carpet led up to the throne on which Alexius sat. Fiona stood a step or two below him on the dais, with Felix almost leaning on the chair itself. Guards were posted between every column, likely with more hiding in the shadows beyond.

“Magister Alexius, a pleasure, I’m sure,” Fen’Falon said. She had decided to bring out the charm Josephine had taught her for Orlais, and spoke first to make it clear she had the upper hand here.

“Ah, the Herald of Andraste,” Alexius replied. “What can I do for you?” You can get stuffed, Fen’Falon thought. He spoke as though she were a servant and he the gracious overlord, more than enough provocation to make her forget the careful words Josephine had made her memorise.

“We’re here for the mages, Alexius, as you damn well know.”

“And do the mages not get a say in their fate?” Fiona asked, coming to stand near Fen’Falon.

“I would love to have you here, First Enchanter,” said Fen’Falon.

“You knew I was your best option, mage, and that is why you allied yourselves with me,” Alexius said. Fiona made as if to speak, but was silenced when Alexius stood from the throne.

Fen’Falon did not like where this was going. “Give us the mages, Alexius, and you might make it out of here alive.”

“And what do I get in return?” he asked.

“Nothing? I know you want me dead, but that isn’t happening.”

Alexius turned to Fen’Falon. “You wear that mark like it was meant for you! Like you deserve it! You’ll pay for your theft when the Elder One comes!”

“How about you tell me about the ‘Venatori’?” Fen’Falon stopped his tirade.

Alexius looked surprised for the first time since Fen’Falon had seen him. “Where did you hear that name? Seize her!”

“I told her,” said Felix.

“Son? But. _Why_?” Alexius said.

“Because you’re starting to sound an awful lot like the Tevinter Magister cliché, Alexius,” Dorian stepped out of the shadows, even as Alexius’s men were slaughtered by Leliana’s agents. “Give up, go home, and let the southerners deal with the breach.”

“You called me a thief,” said Fen’Falon. “Why? What was supposed to happen?”

“You were never supposed to be there. You shouldn’t even exist!” Alexius brought out an amulet that glowed like a rift and held it out. Fen’Falon could feel the unspent power in the air.

“No!” cried Dorian. The Tevinter mage brought his staff around in an attempt to disrupt Alexius’s spell, whatever it was.

He was too late. The spell activated, opening a hole in the world in between Alexius and Fen’Falon’s group. Stronger than any magic she had yet felt save for the breach, the hole pulled Fen’Falon and Dorian through it, then vanished.

Swirling green and black, reminiscent of the Fade yet clearly not a part of it, left Fen’Falon disoriented. If Dorian was still with her, she had no way to tell. Seconds later, or days later, or both, Fen’Falon fell into a pool of still water head first. She rolled with the fall, coming up on her feet soaked to the bone. Another splash next to her indicated the arrival of what she hoped was a friend. White fabric against tanned skin - Dorian.

“Thank Mythal you’re alright,” she said. At least she had an ally here, wherever ‘here’ was. “Where are we? The last thing I can remember is Alexius activating that amulet in the hall.”

Dorian and Fen’Falon looked around. They were in a dungeon or storage cell of some sort, filled almost to the Dalish elf’s knees with murky water. In the corners and along the walls glowed red lyrium, just like from the Temple of Sacred Ashes. It appeared to be part of a castle, but the question was where?

“Displacement of some sort, I believe,” Dorian said. “Although...I think we are still in Redcliffe - this looks like the area near the tunnels the agents used to get in. Which means the question is not really a _where_ , but a _when_.”

“Time? We’ve been displaced in time?”

“We need to find a way back.”

“Shit. Let’s get moving then. I presume the amulet is the key?”

 


	12. Edge of Regret

A year. A whole year spent running and hiding and still it was futile. The red lyrium had crept into every corner of Thedas that he cared to run, and in the end it...got to him. The day Solas tired of running was the day Corypheus and Alexius caught him. Fen’Falon had been dead for some time now, slain by a time spell of Alexius’s design. And now the red lyrium in his dungeon cell tormented him with visions of her. There was no escape even in the Fade, for all to often his mind supplied memories of when she would ask him about his journeys, or about the elvhen artefacts, or when he had watched her in secret, trying to figure out how someone so open-minded could still be so _Dalish_.

Corypheus all but ruled the world now thanks to him. The only thing he regretted more than giving Corypheus his orb was that he had been utterly unable to keep the time spell from killing Fen’Falon and Dorian. And so he sat in a dank cell next to a room filled with water, waiting for the red lyrium to corrupt him as it had done the others long ago. If he was not careful, soon he would start speaking to himself, going more mad than even Andruil had been.

A pair of voices stirred him from his melancholy thoughts. They almost sounded familiar, but he could not quite place them. The heavy door to the room opened with a creak, followed by the splash of booted feet in the water.

“Do you really think we can find the others here?” a man’s voice asked.

“I don’t see why not - we were here, after all. Maybe they are too?” a very familiar voice answered. Female, young, but filled with the hope that seemed to have abandoned the world.

“Fair point,” the male said.

“Who’s there?” Solas called out hoarsely. Either he had not spoken for the whole year, or the red lyrium was starting to affect his voice, too. He stood, expending what little spare mana he had to wick the water out of his clothing.

“Gods, Solas? Is that you?” the woman asked. The two people came into view. An olive-skinned man with a twirled moustache - Dorian, his mind finally supplied -  stood next to a Dalish elf - his Wolf-Friend! But, how? He had seen her die, sucked into the time rift!

“Fen’Falon? How can this be?” Solas said.

Fen’Falon looked to Dorian. “It seems that Alexius’s spell moved us in time, Solas. We’re here now, whenever this is –”

“It has been nearly a year, Fen’Falon. So you think there is a way to undo this? Go back and make it so this never happened?” Solas hoped beyond all reason that this was the case. They could go back, stop Corypheus before he ever had the chance to ruin Thedas, before Fen’Harel’s orb was lost to them forever.

“I’m glad you catch on quick,” Dorian said. “That is the plan, yes.”

“Come on, we need to find Cassandra if she’s here,” Fen’Falon said.

* * *

 

Cassandra got a much shorter explanation of how Fen’Falon had managed to survive, Solas noticed. The Seeker was not much better off than him, though, and it seemed that the red lyrium had gotten farther in her. He did his best to cast barrier spells on Fen’Falon as the four battled their way through the guards, trying to make up for the failure that had beaten at him for a year. It felt more like an eternity, and he could not ignore how just having Fen’Falon back in his life made everything seem better.

They found Leliana in an upper interrogation room, aged beyond her years by the lyrium and the fighting. She choked the final guard to death with her legs alone. Fen’Falon searched the dead guards for a key to unlock Leliana’s shackles.

“We have to kill Alexius,” Leliana said.

“What, no ‘but how are you here’?” Fen’Falon said sarcastically. Solas supposed she was trying to inject some levity into the situation by mocking his and Cassandra’s earlier questions.

“It was a time spell, in case you’re curious,” Dorian said. “We’ve been sent forward a year.”

“It doesn’t matter. You are here now. Can you undo this?” Leliana moved around the room, reclaiming her weapons and armour and handing the others the ones that had been taken from them.

“We believe so, yes. We can make it so none of this was real,” Dorian replied.

“Real? This year was real to me, to everyone. We _lived_ and suffered in this world without you, Herald.” Leliana sounded bitter, jaded. All of them probably did to the displaced mages. A year where the so-called Elder One ruled with impunity, where the breach covered the sky. Solas had thought it would be wonderful for the Fade to overlap the real world once more, but not like this. Never like this.

Fen’Falon looked shaken. “What...what happened? While we were gone?”

“The Elder One destroyed the world,” Leliana said. “He entered Orlais with an army of demons after assassinating the Empress, plunged Thedas into chaos. He is a god, powerful and vengeful.”

“Well, shit.” Fen’Falon had borrowed the phrase from Varric, it seemed.

With everyone properly equipped for a fight once more, the party set out to find the throne room. It wasn’t easy. Rifts were everywhere, and many of the hallways they could have used were blocked off by red lyrium spikes or fallen pieces of the castle. Leliana showed them a way up into the courtyard, where they closed a time-altered rift before entering the castle proper.

The singing in Solas’s head was getting louder, the corruption of the red lyrium spreading. When it reached his core, he would likely go mad. A true god, a mad god, in a world already driven insane by Corypheus. Apocalypse was too kind a word for what would happen if he succumbed to the lyrium.

A quick trip through a storage room saw the group pilfering elfroot potions and lyrium vials, a good handful of which were downed gratefully. Solas hoped that everyone realised they would have to fight Alexius to get this amulet, to make it so the year had never happened.

When they entered the throne room, Alexius was there with a hunched-over figure, his guards either gone or dead. The figure turned towards the group and was revealed to be Felix, succumbed to the darkspawn taint that had been infecting him. Alexius looked like a man without hope, for whom everything had already been lost.

“I knew something had gone wrong with that spell,” Alexius said. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you returned. Well, you’re too late - the Elder One comes. You cannot stand against a god!”

“Alexius,” said Dorian. He stepped forward as if to comfort the broken man. “What happened here? What happened to Felix?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to fix Felix, make him better. I didn’t want to watch my son die, Dorian.”

“I am sorry, Alexius. But we have a way to fix this, make it so it all never happened. Just give us the amulet.”

“No, that’s not enough,” Leliana said. She had made her way up the dais and took Felix hostage at knife-blade. “I want the world back.”

Felix fell to the ground, throat slit. “Felix! No!” cried Alexius.

The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Solas knew it was Corypheus, could feel the corrupted power of the orb as it drew near.

“The Elder One approaches! It is too late! You cannot undo this!” Alexius pulled his staff from behind the throne and cast at Fen’Falon and Dorian. A furious battle ensued. Leliana nocked arrows to string, shooting at Alexius as fast as she could draw new arrow. Cassandra kept the magister’s attention with taunts about Felix, and Dorian peppered the man with fire spells. Solas kept back near Fen’Falon, the two elves fighting side-by-side to freeze the magister and protect their companions with barrier spells.

Alexius vanished with a pop, opening a time-shifted rift instead. Solas and the others fought to destroy the demons, weaken the rift enough so that Fen’Falon could close it. The elven woman barely had to try. The magister reappeared as the rift shut, determined to fight them all to a standstill until Corypheus could arrive.

“Solas! Barrier on me!” shouted Fen’Falon. He cast a barrier spell and watched as the Dalish elf called lightning out of the air to strike the magister. The force of the electricity paralysed Alexius and allowed Cassandra to part head from shoulders with a single blow. Alexius was dead.

Dorian rushed forward to get the amulet off Alexius’s body even as the floor bucked. Corypheus was close, likely within the village already. Solas looked at Cassandra and Leliana.

“Come, we will buy the Herald time,” Leliana said.

“What? No. I can’t let you die for me, my friends,” said Fen’Falon. Solas wondered when they had become friends to her - the Dalish woman had always tried to maintain distance between herself and the others prior to her disappearance.

“We are dead already, Fen’Falon,” Solas told her. “The red lyrium spreads even as we speak. The world is dead to us. Go with Dorian. Use the amulet and undo this before it can even begin.”

Fen’Falon looked as though she were holding back tears - when had she started to care so much for all of them, he wondered.

“Herald,” Cassandra said. “Let us do this for you. Fix this.”

Fen’Falon nodded unhappily. She and Dorian went back up to the dais so that Dorian could begin the spell, while Solas and Cassandra took up guard positions just behind the main doors. Leliana went out into the main hall to delay their enemies there and shut the doors behind herself. As the sounds of fighting reached a crescendo, the doors were knocked open by a pride demon and he and Cassandra began their fight. They just had to delay the demon until the spell was cast, Solas thought. He couldn’t reveal himself where Fen’Falon might remember though, crippling his ability to deal with the threat almost as much as the red lyrium did. As the spell activated behind him, Solas fell to an unseen whip of lightning wielded by the demon, and knew no more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been listening to the Once soundtrack when I write Solas POV chapters, and ‘The Hill’ came on while I was writing this chapter. A little too perfect. Thanks, Fen’harel.
> 
> Chapter title comes from a song by my friend's band, Platform one. Here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4JxY_egUYU


	13. And We're Back

Seeing her friends bitter and broken like that hurt more than she could imagine. If it hadn’t been for Dorian holding her in place as he cast the spell, Fen’Falon would have run to join Solas and Cassandra when she saw the demon appear.

“Don’t move,” Dorian told her. “If you move you’ll break the time field and we’ll both die!”

Fen’Falon immediately stilled. The second Dorian finished the incantation, the time portal opened behind them and the two mages were sucked through, hopefully back to the very moment they had left.

They managed to exit the portal on their feet this time, for which Fen’Falon was grateful. She took a moment to look behind her at Cassandra and Solas and wanted to sink to the ground in relief. No red glow around them. No eerie red to their eyes. They were back. But Fen’Falon didn’t dare do as she wished - there was an image to maintain in front of Alexius. If he thought her weak for even a moment, the Inquisition would never get the mages on board. So she stood up straighter, channeled her inner Vivienne, and bore down on the magister, vengeance on her mind.

“Is that the best you can do?” Dorian asked. To Solas and Cassandra, it must have looked as though the spell had done nothing, as though Dorian’s shouted negation earlier had been enough to interrupt it. Alexius backed away from them both in fear. Good, thought Fen’Falon. He should be afraid. The Dalish woman continued to advance on Alexius, and he continued to back away from her. Alexius stumbled on a loose stone and fell to his knees. There was nowhere to run for the magister, no way to fight - after all he’d just seen his trump spell fail, from his point of view.

“Give up, Alexius. Surrender to us now, and I might not kill you for what you just tried to do,” Fen’Falon told him. Killing him would be so easy, after she’d already done it in another time. But the knowledge he had about the time spell and the Elder One would essential to preventing the future Fen’Falon and Dorian had experienced.

Alexius sighed. “There’s no point in continuing this then. It’s over.” He turned to look at Felix. “Felix, I…”

“It’s alright, father,” Felix said. He put a hand on his father’s shoulder.

“I don’t want you to die, Felix.”

“Everyone dies father.” Alexius looked pained as he stood. Cassandra nodded to two of the Inquisition agents in the room and they walked Alexius out. Fen’Falon hoped he was placed in the most uncomfortable cell available in Haven, or wherever they ended up putting him.

“Well, now that that’s over with,” said Fen’Falon. Armoured guards trooped in through the main entrance, their breastplates silver and shiny. They took up positions next to the columns and saluted as the monarchs of Ferelden entered the room.

“Or not,” Dorian quipped. Fen’Falon had never seen the Fereldan monarchs before, though she knew their story from the tales of the Hero of Ferelden. King Alistair was handsome enough in his leather armour, dirty bonde hair cut short above a face made lean from years of ruling. Queen Anora aged well for a human too, Fen’Falon thought, though the makeup was excessive. Also blonde, she wore a simple brown and cream dress.

“Grand Enchanter Fiona,” Alistair said sternly, “We need to talk about you giving away one of our castles.”

Fiona stepped forward. “Your majesties,” she said. She bowed slightly in greeting.

“When we offered you and the mages shelter, Grand Enchanter, that did not include the ability to take our peoples’ homes,” Anora looked most upset, Fen’Falon thought. She wondered if the Queen practiced that face or if it had stuck like that over the years.

“Your majesties, please, let me assure that we never intended–”

“Intentions do not matter when your actions speak for you, Grand Enchanter,” Anora said.

“You and the other rebel mages are no longer welcome in Ferelden,” Alistair spoke. “Leave our lands, or we will force you to.” Fen’Falon almost thanked the monarchs for setting this up so perfectly for the Inquisition. As she was technically still in charge on the mission, the elf decided to use this opportunity to bring the mages into the fold.

“But...where will we go?” Fiona asked. “Hundreds still need protection.”

“The Inquisition would be happy to shelter the mages,” Fen’Falon spoke up. She moved forward, physically inserting herself into the conversation space so the monarchs would be forced to recognise her. Her coat and foot wraps were covered in muck, crusts of blood flaking off with every movement, which she hoped made for a somewhat intimidating figure despite her youthful appearance.

“What would the terms of this arrangement be?” Fiona said. Fen’Falon was glad to see that the enchanter seemed to have learned an amount of caution after the disaster with the Tevinter group.

“Certainly better than what Alexius did,” Dorian said. He turned to Fen’Falon. “The Inquisition is better than Alexius, yes?”

“Of course we are,” replied Fen’Falon.

“It does not seem that we really have a choice in the matter,” Fiona said. She did not look happy.

“The Inquisition would be happy to have the mages with us as trusted allies. We will need your help - all of your help - to seal the breach once and for all.” Fen’Falon held out a hand in _shemlen_ custom to seal the deal.

“A generous offer,” Alistair cut in. “You will not find better in Ferelden.” Fiona still looked unhappy by the prospect, but she really didn’t have any other options.

“Then the mages accept,” Fiona said. “It would be insanity not to.” Fiona took Fen’Falon’s hand and shook it firmly.

“Welcome to the Inquisition, mages of the rebellion,” Fen’Falon told her. Cassandra gave a disapproving huff.

“We thank you for the honour. I will inform my people to pack and we will be on our way to Haven as soon as possible.”

The monarchs of Fereldan walked out of Redcliffe castle, hopefully satisfied with how things had gone. Fen’Falon sincerely hoped she never met them again - she hated all this leadership stuff with a passion.  Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian all came up to her once the monarchs’ retinue was out as well.

“What now?” asked Cassandra.

“You’re asking me?” Fen’Falon said. She looked at the others, at how unworn their faces were, how they didn’t have that horrible red glow around them, and suddenly the events of the last few hours came crashing back onto her. The elven mage sank to the ground, sorrow, relief, worry, happiness all rioting through her mind. Dorian seemed to understand what was going on and gently laid a hand on one of her shoulders.

“It’s all right, Herald,” said Dorian. “We’ll do all we can to prevent the future that we saw from occurring.”

Fen’Falon drew in a deep breath. When she’d seen these people beaten like that in the future, it had hurt. The relief she felt on potentially being able to prevent that could not be described, but it did make her realise that she honestly cared about what happened to them, even Solas. Yes he could be annoying with his more-Elven-than-thou attitude, and the smugness he practically radiated when dispensing ancient knowledge, but not having him around - the very thought made her heart ache. Creators help her if he caught on to the change in her attitude though.

“I’m fine,” Fen’Falon said. “Let’s get back to Haven. There’s a lot that needs to be done to prepare for the mages’ arrival.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unsure if there'll be an update tomorrow - I just got back from MAGFest and am feeling like shit. I'll try to write, but I won't make any guarantees.


	14. Halla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I managed to wake up feeling better today, so have a chapter of fluff! :)

It seemed only natural after such a difficult time finishing the mission in Redcliffe that it would rain on the group as they returned to Haven. Wet, tired, and miserable, Fen’Falon turned introspective, unable to get the images of her companions from that dark future out of her head. The way Cassandra had looked at her like she was the second advent of Andraste - the way _Solas_ had looked at her like he’d never thought he could be happy without her. Leliana’s loss of faith, when it seemed such an integral part of her. She had trouble sleeping as they traveled, unwilling to have those same images haunt her in the Fade as they did on waking. Fen’Falon knew Dorian wasn’t struggling as much - he hadn’t been running around with these people for the past month and some change.

They stopped at the foot of the Frostback Mountains for the day, each group member setting up their tents and putting the camp in order. With the exception of Fen’Falon, the group was rather efficient at getting everything set up - the so-called Herald was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she nearly set up her tent inside-out before she noticed.

“Are you alright?” Solas asked her once her tent was up. She looked up at the tall elf, surprised that he’d noticed.

“I….I don’t know,” Fen’Falon said. “Redcliffe was...difficult.”

“Difficult how?”

“I...I know it looked like we just reappeared after Alexius cast his spell, that whatever he was trying failed from the beginning, but it didn’t.” Fen’Falon looked down at the ground and sat. Solas stood for a moment longer before joining her, likely sensing her distress. Or so she hoped. “Alexius’s spell worked, Solas. Dorian and I were sent forward in time.”

“In time? But that...such magic would be incredible, should not even be possible,” Solas said. He looked intrigued by the prospect, silently encouraging Fen’Falon to continue.

“We were sent forward about a year. According to Dorian, the magic was supposed to disconnect us from time, leaving us essentially non-existent to the world. Because Dorian interrupted the spell, we only got moved by a year.”

“And you’re sure that it was time magic? Not some trick of the Fade?”

Fen’Falon glared at Solas. “I _am_ a mage too, Solas. I think I’d bloody well notice if I were suddenly in the Fade.”

“I concede your point.”

“If you’ll let me continue? You were the one who asked, after all.” Solas made a go-on motion with one of his hands. “Dorian and I landed in the dungeons of Redcliffe castle. We….we found you and Cassandra there, Solas. I…” Fen’Falon’s throat refused to cooperate further and she could not get the words out. She buried her face in her hands in an attempt to hide the pain displayed on it.

“It is fine, Fen’Falon. You do not need to tell me.”

Fen’Falon looked up at him. “You don’t want to know your future?”

“If we can prevent it from happening, then what does it matter? It will no longer be my future.”

The Dalish elf nodded. “Thank you, Solas.”

“For what?”

“For listening. For being here. After what I saw in that dark future, it...it helps.”

“Then you are most welcome.” A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder, which Fen’Falon’s eyes followed back to Solas’s arm and then his face. She studied his face carefully - she wanted to replace that terrible sight of his red lyrium infection with Solas’s face as it truly was. Bluish grey met green and Fen’Falon flushed, caught staring at the older elf. Solas removed his hand from Fen’Falon’s shoulder and stood.

“Come,” he said. “You should eat. It will help drive the memories away.” Solas offered Fen’Falon a hand to help her stand. She took it and was pulled to her feet. His hand was so warm, and it was almost as if the mark in her palm was _pleased_ to be near the frustrating man. Fen’Falon thought it strange how well their hands fit together, the other mage’s palm and fingers completely encapsulating her own. Just before the pair of elves reached the campfire, Fen’Falon realised that Solas still had her hand and quickly reclaimed it while trying not to flush again. Solas didn’t seem to have noticed, the insufferable man.

They sat at the campfire and ate in companionable silence until Cassandra asked what happened. Fen’Falon shook her head - she was not ready to talk about what she had seen there, not yet. Dorian seemed all too happy to explain instead, and Fen’Falon excused herself from the group to hide in the nearby trees, far enough away that she couldn’t hear the Tevinter accent.

“Come with me,” a calming voice said next to her. Solas had followed her from the camp.

“Where?” Fen’Falon asked.

“There is a place nearby that I think you will like.” Solas held out his hand once more as if he expected her to take it.

“Alright,” she said, and took his offered hand. Solas led her further from camp until she could no longer see even the faintest hint of their campfire. The trees thickened and the undergrowth appeared to have never seen the passage of footfalls, though that only truly meant that no non-elves had been through. The Dalish elf and the apostate mage made no sound with their passage, elven feet light on the leaves and twigs that littered the forest floor. What little moonlight filtered through the forest canopy did almost nothing for visibility, making Fen’Falon glad for her elven eyesight.

“Where are we going?” she asked in a whisper. Something about the land demanded that it not be disturbed.

“Hush. You will see soon enough.” Solas put a finger to his lips to emphasize his point. Fen’Falon became quiet, although it was more because the gesture had gotten her thinking about Solas’s lips than because she felt any need to listen. She wondered what it would be like to feel his breath upon an ear as he whispered secrets to her, to feel his lips on hers in a kiss, to...Fen’Falon shook her head as if to shake the thoughts from it. It wasn’t right to be thinking those things, Solas had never shown an interest in her like that. Just because his future self seemed to care did not mean the present one might harbour the same feelings. Fen’Falon was glad the darkness hid her embarrassment at such thoughts.

The two elves entered a rough clearing, sparsely populated by trees. Fen’Falon nearly walked into Solas before she noticed that he had stopped. Solas looked at her and waited until she made eye contact before tilting his head at the clearing. A Dalish statue to Fen’Harel stood near the far edge, marking this as a place where a clan had camped. She wondered what had happened to the clan that they did not take the statue with them. Her musing about the statue was interrupted by the beautiful white halla that entered the clearing. It was young, and small, but its coat was unmarred by anything, and its horns had only just started on their second bud. Fen’Falon moved to sit on the ground and pulled Solas down with her.

She watched the halla prance through the clearing, enjoying the sight of the creature sacred to her people. Fen’Falon wondered how Solas had known to find a halla here. They watched, and as the exhaustion of the day and the events of Redcliffe caught up to her, Fen’Falon rested her head on Solas’s shoulder. Dark auburn fell free from its horsetail, and the sensation of fingers lightly brushing against hair lulled the Dalish mage to sleep at last.


	15. Haven

The mark on Lavellan’s hand felt different to him. That, more than anything, helped Solas believe her crazy tale. To travel in time - he wondered what the limitations on that were, if it were possible to go back to Arlathan, undo the damage he had wrought. It was probably too late for that, though - he needed to find a modern solution, not one that undid all of history.

The mark was warm in his hand as they watched the halla, likely his power reacting to the proximity. Hopefully his power was not changing the Dalish woman on a significant level, although the chances of her noticing if it did were slim. Solas would have to find time later to ask her about that, to make sure that the world’s current salvation was not being influenced by the power of the Dread Wolf.

Her head rested on his shoulder and he noticed that Fen’Falon smelled of autumn leaves and cinnamon. A rather pleasant smell, all told. Solas wondered when he had started noticing her, started paying attention to the little things about this enigmatic Dalish elf. As her breathing evened out, he realised that she had fallen asleep against him. He had lied earlier, about not wanting to know his future, but it was extremely evident to him that whatever had happened had damaged Fen’Falon on some level. Perhaps when they got back to Haven he could hear the full story from Dorian.

Solas let Fen’Falon sleep on him for nearly an hour while he was lost in thought. He realised that unless they got back to camp soon, Cassandra and Dorian would come looking, and find the two elves like this. Then they would make assumptions that one or both had _feelings_ for each other, as if they could ever. He was elvhen, more than elvhen, and she simply a Dalish elf granted far more power than she should ever have had to handle. With the breach closed, he would leave and hunt down another way to complete his quest. Solas could not afford to be tied up with someone so much younger than him, someone so full of hope and promise, someone who made him wonder if maybe the People could truly become his once more.

The ancient elf picked up Fen’Falon carefully so as not to waken her. She looked so peaceful asleep like this. The hint of suspicion that dogged her gaze during waking hours was gone, showing him a face that was rounded and unworn. Occasionally as she breathed in her nose would wiggle up and down like a rabbit’s, moving the freckles with it. Lips partially open to catch more air, her eyes twitching in the throes of some dream or other. The vallaslin looked more out of place than ever without her green-gold eyes to offset the purple colouring, and Solas caught himself as he wondered how much more beautiful she could look without the markings.

He growled at himself - this was not the time for such thoughts. If he were centuries younger, perhaps he would have taken her without second thought, for such was the prerogative of youthful arrogance when coupled with the expectations of society. Solas adjusted his grip on the slim woman and walked slowly back to camp with her cradled in his arms. Cassandra and Dorian had retired to their tents and Solas was glad that they could not see him now.

Gently, oh so gently, he laid the elven woman down inside her tent. Fen’Falon did not stir even as he placed a blanket over her to ward off the mountain chill. It would be interesting, he thought, to see if anything came of this in the morning. Once his turn at watch was finished he woke Cassandra for second watch and retired to his own tent to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Their arrival back at Haven was marked with cheering. The ex-Templar stood at the gates of the town to welcome them and engaged Cassandra for a detailed report of what had occurred at Redcliffe. Solas went straight to his borrowed house, eager to shed more than a week’s worth of grime.

Lavellan had said nothing to him of what happened in the forest - he did not know whether to be pleased or disappointed at the lack. If he was willing to tell the truth to himself, there had been something almost comforting about the level of trust that the Dalish elf had displayed by falling asleep on him. Of course, she had no clue as to Solas’s true identity, but still. She seemed open enough to the idea that her people’s history might not be completely correct, enough that he contemplated what would occur if he were to tell her that he was Fen’Harel. Solas shook his head. Such a revelation would likely lead to the Inquisition being brought to bear on him instead of Corypheus. The new-formed power did not need such a distraction, especially not when they were so close to closing the breach.

As the group walked through Haven, the ex-Templar and Cassandra pulled Fen’Falon with them to discuss what happened with the other Inquisition leaders. When Fen’Falon looked back at Solas with a look that said “help me” he almost thought he was dreaming again. He shook his head at her; he had no intention of putting himself in between the Inquisition’s leaders, even if Fen’Falon _was_ marked by his power.

Solas left them to their inevitable argument. Once his robes were hung up to dry and a fresh set carefully draped over himself, the fallen god sought out Dorian.

“You look considerably better like this, my elven friend,” Dorian said.

“Better than what?” Solas asked him. If Lavellan could not tell him about the future she had seen, Dorian would have to do, even if talking to the Tevinter was akin to speaking with his younger self.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Whatever it is that happened there, it would appear to haunt her, Dorian. I did not press the matter.” Dorian looked thoughtful at that. “So please enlighten me.”

“We saw you and Cassandra there, Solas. Tainted by red lyrium, so corrupted your eyes had turned red and your voice changed with false power. Whatever happened to you two during the year the Herald and I were missing must have been terrible. Alexius used the time spell to help this mysterious Elder One overtake Thedas. The breach was...everywhere. The whole sky was green, pieces of castles and mountains floating above it all.” Dorian gave a theatrical shudder. “I never want to see that again.”

Solas grew thoughtful - the implications of that future were unpleasant. It seemed giving his orb to Corypheus had unleashed a monster nearly equal to his locked-away brethren. Closing the breach was the first priority, but if the Inquisition went after Corypheus, Solas thought he might just remain so as to retrieve his orb.

“You should go rescue Lavellan, Dorian. Cullen seemed most unhappy with the decision to recruit the mages,” Solas said.

“Why not yourself? Wouldn’t she rather be rescued by an elf?”

“Given your experiences, I believe she would appreciate your presence more at this point in time.” Dorian nodded and headed for the Chantry, leaving Solas alone with his thoughts and plans for the future.

 


	16. A Voice of Reason

“We have to be prepared for abominations among the mages,” Cullen near-shouted. Cullen, Josephine, Leliana, Cassandra, and Fen’Falon were all standing in the middle of the Chantry loudly discussing the events of Redcliffe.

“We _can_ control ourselves, you know. Both Solas and I are apostate mages,” Fen’Falon retorted.

“That doesn’t change the facts, Herald. Cassandra, you were at Redcliffe. Why didn’t you stop her?”

Cassandra glared at Cullen. “We put the Herald in charge of this mission, Commander. I could not countermand her decision without undermining the entire point of the mission. For the record, I fully support her decision.” Cullen looked betrayed, as though he had been certain Cassandra would side with him.

“This is not the sort of conversation we should be having in public. The mission was accomplished and that is what matters right now,” Josephine said.

“Finally the voice of reason speaks,” Dorian slid around a column, neatly rescuing Fen’Falon from having to answer the others. “When you go to close the breach, might I join you? I would like to see it up close.”

“So you’re staying then?” Fen’Falon asked, her head tilted to one side.

“Unless you’d rather I left?”

Fen’Falon grinned at the Tevinter. “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded with, present or future.”

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to your yelling then.” Dorian left the Chantry with a wink thrown at the group. Fen’Falon nearly groaned at the thought of having to endure more scolding from the humans.

Cullen looked at the Dalish mage. “Would you join us to continue this discussion in the War Room?”

“Oh, so now I’m invited? Does that mean I’m no longer your prisoner?” Fen’Falon asked bitterly.

“You haven’t been our prisoner for a while, Herald,” Leliana said.

“The people have seen out doing good work in the name of the Inquisition,” Cassandra said as they walked into the War Room. “Most of them no longer believe that you had anything to do with the Divine’s death.”

“And if we are to prevent this Dark Future you saw from happening,” said Leliana, “Then we need you with us more than ever. You are the only one who can close the breach.”

“So you all and Solas keep telling me. But that’s not enough anymore. I - we - can’t allow that future to happen,” Fen’Falon choked out. “Closing the breach isn’t enough. We have to stop the Elder One. According to the versions of you guys that Dorian and I saw, the Elder One had the Empress of Orlais assassinated, and then invaded with an army of demons.” Redcliffe had shown her the cost of failing, the cost of remaining indifferent. She had no doubt that if she left and returned to her clan, she would be killed along with them when the Elder One came.

“I will set my best agents on this immediately then,” Leliana said. “Empress Celene must not be allowed to die. I will have them listen closely for word of a demon army in the making.”

“I will recruit more soldiers,” said Cullen. “Every man and woman who can fight for us could make the difference.”

“I have some contacts among the nobles of both Orlais and Fereldan. I will see if we can secure funding from them,” said Josephine.

Cullen turned to Cassandra. “Stay close to the Herald,” he said. “If we lose her, we lose our only chance at changing things.”

“Of course,” Cassandra replied. She placed a fist over her heart in a salute.

“Well,” Fen’Falon said, “now that that’s settled…” She made as if to leave the room, eager to wash the dust and dirt from herself. Anything to remove the feel of Redcliffe from her armor.

“Herald, there is something else you can do for us while we wait for the mages to arrive,” Leliana stopped the elf. Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow at the petite human.

“We received a messenger from a company known as the Bull’s Chargers. They have offered their services to the Inquisition, and invited us to see them fight on the Storm Coast. We would like to send you as our representative. Josephine will get together a payment installment to take with you in case you should think them a worthy addition to our cause.”

“Fine. But I get to bring whoever I want with me.”

“Agreed.” Fen’Falon walked out of the War Room and nearly ran to her quarters. She gathered up a change of clothing, eager to make her way down to the stream to bathe properly. As the Dalish mage rushed from her house, the bundle of clothing clutched in both arms went flying. She fell to the ground from the recoil and looked up to see Solas standing there, a look on his face which suggested that he wanted to laugh and was keeping himself from doing so. It was very nearly smug, an expression that Fen’Falon wondered if she could wipe it from his face somehow.

“ _Ma serannas_ , Solas,” she stammered as she got to her feet.

“Do not be concerned overmuch, Lavellan. May I assist you?” Solas’s lips twitched. Fen’Falon caught herself thinking about removing the smugness by kissing him, and then immediately wondered what such a thought was doing in her mind.

“Thank you, but I think I’m okay, Solas.” For some reason Fen’Falon kept wanting to call him _hahren_ , as if he were a Keeper or other elder. She supposed that he was significantly older than her, but it wasn’t as though she was actively learning from him on that kind of level.

“If you insist,” Solas said. Fen’Falon finished collecting her clothing and nearly ran for the stream.

She scrubbed until her skin was red and raw, desperate to remove all traces of red lyrium from herself. After she saw what it was capable of doing, she understood Varric’s stance on the disturbing stuff. Fen’Falon would have to ask the dwarf what he knew of it when she got back to the town - the more she knew about it now, the better prepared she could be for the next time they ran across it.

The world she’d seen, that world without her, could never come to pass. She would do whatever it took to prevent that from happening. Fen’Falon might not like the _shemlen_ and others of the inquisition, but a world without them would hardly be a world worth living in. Who would the Dalish trade with, or make fun of? Who would they get dwarven metals from? Fen’Falon had a feeling that even if she managed to make it so that only the Dalish survived, there would still be wars. Clan feuds had lasted for centuries before, and as much as she loved her people, she had seen enough of the world to know how things always ended.

Fen’Falon was bleeding from dozens of shallow cuts, having scrubbed so hard it broke the skin. She stopped ruefully and used her magic to douse herself in water, washing away the blood before she clothed herself once more. The Dalish mage more than half expected to see the white wolf again and was vaguely disappointed to discover it was not in the woods today. She wondered if it had found a pack, or moved on, or been scared off by the Inquisition’s hunters and soldiers. Creators help the hapless fool who killed that magnificent wolf, though.

Once back in Haven proper, Fen’Falon hung her wet clothing out to dry and began to pull together the things she would need for the trip to the Storm Coast. Her Keeper had drilled into her the basics of every major section of Thedas - the typical weather, the people who lived there, what to expect from the wildlife, and so on. Storm Coast was perhaps the most literal of the names, with sea-spawned tempests breaking themselves against the cliffs regularly. That meant an oiled cloak to keep the wet off, oilcloth to go over her pack, and at least one spare set of battle robes. If she wasn’t soaked through after her trip to the Storm Coast, Fen’Falon would be immensely surprised.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the writing seems suckier than usual this chapter - I'm battling a nasty fever and cough and it seems to be messing with me head.


	17. Storm and Dragon

The Storm Coast was officially her least favourite place. Fen’Falon had thought she was prepared for the storms, and she was wrong. The wind and water seemed to cut right through the oiled cloth she wore, leaving her soaked straight through and overly warm on top of that. Solas, insufferably, had seemed to stay dry the entire time. At least the Inquisition now had the Bull’s Chargers to call on, although Fen’Falon was not quite sure what to make of the enormous Qunari that led the company.

Right at the moment, though, Fen’Falon wanted to strangle Iron Bull. Earlier in the day he had made a comment about killing dragons. So naturally there had to a be a dragon nesting on the Storm Coast. He was beautiful, painfully so. Flashes of bright yellow decorated his hide near his legs and underbelly, with streaks of blue and vibrant purple along his ridges. A pair of horns curled in and forward towards the dragon’s muzzle, lending him a sinister air that only added to his majesty. His haunches stood at maybe three humans’ heights, making him almost as large as a small keep. Wings streaked with white batted at a giant that had wandered too close.

Fen’Falon held up a hand to keep the others from getting too close - she had no intention of battling this amazing creature. The dragon roared and lightning spewed from his mouth to strike at the giant, who flailed in agony. A wickedly spiked tail swept forward to knock the giant down, and another roar-summoned lightning killed the dragon’s opponent. Fen’Falon kept her hand up and waited with held breath until the dragon flew off.

“Seeker,” Varric said, “You’re the dragon expert. What do we do now?”

“Hope that it doesn’t see us and try not to get killed, Varric,” Cassandra replied.

“Oh yes, very useful advice that is,” Fen’Falon said sarcastically. “Did anyone catch where it flew to? I’d rather not get tangled up in a fight with that thing.”

“It seems to be heading for one of the islands off the coast, Lavellan,” said Solas.

“Oh thank Mythal for that, then. Let’s clear out those bandits - maybe we can hire them too? -  Scout Hardin mentioned so that Inquisition folk can make camps here and then head back to Haven. With any luck the mages will have arrived and we can get that breach closed.”

Fen’Falon led the group deeper into the coast, towards where the bandits were said to make camp. Bandit sentries attacked them and were slaughtered for the affront, an act which made no one pleased. One of the sentries had a journal which told of a way to challenge the leader in single combat, thereby earning the loyalty of group, and Fen’Falon eagerly seized on that as the way to make this work out for everyone.

“Varric, what’s the best way to find a deepstalker?” Fen’Falon called out.

“Andraste’s tits, Herald, why d’you want to know something like that?” Varric said.

“According to this idiot’s journal, if we make an amulet out of deepstalker hide and serpentstone, we can walk right into these bandits’ camp and challenge the leader for control. Sounds a lot more efficient than slaughtering all of them.”

Varric shook his head. “You’re crazy, kid, you know that?”

“And?” Fen’Falon and Varric made eye contact and burst out laughing. Fen’Falon caught Solas suppressing a grin as well, though of course Cassandra only made a noise of disgust. That Seeker really needed a sense of humour, in Fen’Falon’s book.

* * *

 

The bandit leader clearly had ego issues, in Fen’Falon’s mind.

“You dare to challenge me?” the man called out.

“I do. If I win, your Blades join the Inquisition and help us restore order. If I lose, well, I lose.”

“Agreed.” The leader hefted his overlarge sword and charged Fen’Falon. She sidestepped neatly, the blade missed her entirely, and cast an ice spell which froze the human in place.

“Yield, human,” she said. The man’s eyes seemed furious to her. “Oh right, you need to speak for that.” Fen’Falon lifted the spell on his face only, keeping the rest of him from moving. “I’ll ask again: yield.”

“Knife-eared bitch,” the human spat. Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow at him.

“Well, if that’s how you’re going to be…” She stepped away from the bandit leader and littered a quick succession of lightning runes around his feet. As the human thawed, he rushed forward again to charge Fen’Falon and tripped two of the runes. The rippled explosion left burn marks all over the human and Fen’Falon followed up with a flame spell to set him on fire. Very few people could think clearly while on fire, after all. The bandit leader fell to the ground, pain evident on his face. Fen’Falon crouched next to the man and drew her small dagger against his throat.

“I’ll ask one last time. Yield,” said the Dalish mage.

The man spat in her face.

“As you wish,” Fen’Falon said. She pushed her dagger through the man’s throat with a grimace, killing him almost instantly.

“Blades of Hessarian!” she called out. “You now work for the Inquisition! Find one of our camps to receive orders and pay. If any wish to dispute this arrangement, by all means challenge me!” The elven woman walked away from the former leader’s body and out of the camp.  The rest of her group followed.

“Nice fighting back there, Icy,” Varric said.

“Icy?” asked Fen’Falon.

“It’s your nickname. Same way we have Seeker and Chuckles here. Your frost spell back there was really something else.” Fen’Falon sighed. She was going to be stuck with the name now, knowing Varric.

“If you insist, dwarf,” she retorted. Maybe if she was lucky she would be able to come up with something equally odd to call Varric. Back at the Inquisition camp, she let the scouts know to expect the Blades and what the situation was with that group.

“You handled that admirably,” Solas told her later, as they sat around a fire.

“Handled what?”

“These ‘Blades of Hessarian’. It is refreshing to see that not everyone wishes to slaughter their enemies.”

“Um, thank you, I guess?” Fen’Falon wasn’t sure what to make of Solas anymore. There were days when they truly behaved as friends, and others when it seemed Solas wanted nothing to do with anyone. And then of course, there was the troubling matter of the direction her thoughts seemed to trend when she was near the older elf. Fen’Falon wondered if there was a potion that could be taken to make them go away - after all, it seemed clear to her that Solas was not interested in her beyond closing the breach.

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. Fen’Falon stared at Solas’s face and only broke away when he made eye contact with her, turning her head away from him. She couldn’t believe he’d caught her looking. The mage was saved by Varric, as ever.

“So! Who’s up for a game of Wicked Grace?” Varric asked.

“Wicked Grace?” Fen’Falon said. She had never heard of this game. She immediately regretted her question as Varric broke into what could only be called an evil smirk. Even Cassandra looked happier than she ought to at the prospect. Solas was as unreadable as ever.

“Perhaps I should sit this one out,” Solas said.

“Come on Chuckles, you know we can’t really play with only three!”

“If I must,” Solas said with a sigh. Fen’Falon wondered what this game was that Solas sounded so put-upon by the idea of playing it. Or maybe it was the idea of playing it with someone who had never done so?

“Sit near me, Icy, and I’ll show you how it’s done,” Varric told Fen’Falon. She scooted over to sit closer to Varric

Fen’Falon lost horribly, of course, the blow made worse by the fact that she was pretty certain that Solas was pulling his punches. Something about the way he played made it seem like he went easy on the whole crew, hiding his true skill - whatever that was - at the game. Maybe she could harass the odd apostate into teaching her to play. It would be highly entertaining to beat the pants of Varric next time, if it were possible.

 


	18. Oh What a Celebration We'll Have Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, let me tell you. Being sick blows. It completely killed my ability to write, and then I had to go and make up for lost time and do stupid adult things all weekend too. I'll try to write extra chapters this week to make up for it :)

It was time.

“We must be prepared for retaliation,” Cassandra said to Cullen. “Closing the breach will provoke this mysterious Elder One.”

“My spies tell me he is doing something with the Templars,” said Leliana. The War Room was for once mostly quiet - there was too much at stake here to be caught up in petty arguments. “Whatever it is, we must fortify Haven for an attack.”

“I will inform my men and get trebuchets into position at key locations. There is only one good way into Haven and we can use that to our advantage.” Cullen looked thoughtfully at the large map tacked to the War Room table. Josephine was silent; Fen’Falon wondered if the Rivaini noblewoman felt left out - there was not much for an ambassador to offer to a war conference.

“Cassandra,” Fen’Falon said. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like you up at the Temple with me and the mages. You’ve had my back the whole time we’ve been in this mess, and I appreciate that.”

“I would be honoured, Herald,” Cassandra replied. She placed a fist over her heart in the Inquisition salute and nodded at Fen’Falon. Fen’Falon scrambled to think of something for Josephine to do as well.

“Hey, um, Josephine?”

“Yes, Herald?” Fen’Falon had given up the fight against that title more than two weeks prior, after she had returned from the Storm Coast.

“Do you think the soldiers and faithful would want to celebrate if we close the breach?”

Josephine’s face lit up. “I do love to plan a party, Herald. I will see about getting things from the tavern for the men.” Josephine bustled herself out of the War Room, her pen tapping against her mouth in thought. Fen’Falon smiled, glad to have helped.

Strange how three months ago she hated all of these people. Wanted to hurt them for keeping her from her clan. Ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, to get away from the shemlen who refused to leave her alone. Fen’Falon knew what had changed that - Redcliffe. The past month since that terrible day had been hard for her, with only Dorian to help her move through it and past it. She had never expected to come to care for these people and their mission, but it was hard to argue with the good the Inquisition was doing for the common folk. It still surprised the Dalish elf that the people cared for her so greatly - she remembered the looks of hatred cast upon her the first time she had left the Chantry with Cassandra.

Fen’Falon looked at the remaining advisors. “Let’s do this,” she said to them.

“I will collect the mages and meet you at the temple,” Cassandra said. Fen’Falon nodded and left the War Room to collect her staff. The Chantry seemed brighter today, perhaps because of the decision that had finally been made.

Snow greeted Fen’Falon’s feet when she stepped outside. It was nearly spring down in the valleys, but here in the mountains winter held fast. She walked up to Solas, who was outside the apothecary’s as usual.

“Are you coming, Solas?” Fen’Falon asked. “We’re going to seal the breach for good.”

“Someone has to be there to help you channel the power properly,” Solas returned with a grin.

Fen’Falon grinned back. “Yes, your bald head should reflect the mages’ power quite nicely.”

The climb up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes was no different than it had been the last time, save that the entirety of the southern rebel mages were making the trip as well. Snow covered everything, and in some cases fresh powder hid the scars from the rifts and the breach. The hut that she had seen burning was a ruined shell, blackened and broken. Craters were left in the ground from places where missiles from the breach had landed, covered in snow but still visible. Inquisition soldiers guarded every step of the path, saluting as Fen’Falon, Solas, Cassandra, and the mages walked by.

The Temple was still a ruin. Spires of red lyrium and fade-touched stone jutted out from the ground and the walls, the combined red and green glow making the Temple look sinister and unwelcoming. No one had been able to move the corpses, it seemed. The skeletons were twisted in agony, faces displaying emotions from anger to shock to pain, the bones burnt and blackened and somehow still smoldering after all these months. Red lyrium grew from some of the corpses, but most were left alone by some strange providence.

Fen’Falon walked into the Temple, pausing as she looked down at what was now a courtyard of sorts.

“Are you ready for this?” Cassandra asked. Fen’Falon looked at Solas and saw what appeared to be an encouraging grin.

“I am. Let’s get this done once and for all,” Fen’Falon said. The three walked down to the courtyard, Fen’Falon positioned slightly in front of the other two to bring her closer to the rift and the breach.

“Mages!” Cassandra called out. “Stand ready!”

Solas turned to the mages arrayed along the courtyard. “Focus past the Herald! Let your will and your magic flow through her into the breach! She is your staff, the breach your enemy!” The mages roared their assent and gathered power. Fen’Falon watched as Solas turned back to her and did the same.

It was nearly a religious experience, holding on to that much power. The mages’ power felt clean and orderly, pinpricks of blue within the white and hints of yellows and purples. Solas’s power was distinctly different, and Fen’Falon hoped she would get the chance to talk to him about it later. His power felt raw and primal, grays and whites and reds and blacks and icy blues all twined around each other. He felt not just old, but _ancient_. It reminded her of the mark on her hand, and more interestingly, of ancient elvhen ruins from the times of Arlathan that her clan had stopped near once.

Fen’Falon focused and drew the power into the mark, using her right hand to hold her left arm steady. She thought only of closing the breach, sealing off the hole into the Fade that been created, undoing the damage that the orb had done. Brilliant Fade-green magical light exploded from her palm and shot towards the rift in a twisting beam. Fen’Falon focused harder - the magic needed to go beyond the rift, up to the breach in the sky. She focused and focused, her arms trembling from the strain, her whole being feeling as though she were physically in the Fade once more from the magic coursing through her. A gasp and a shudder, a final mental push, and Fen’Falon fell to her hands and knees on the ground as the breach closed with a nearly audible snap.

The force of the seal drove everyone at the Temple from their feet, Solas taking a moment to shield himself and Fen’Falon from the main blast wave even as he lost his footing. Cassandra was the first to regain her feet and immediately rushed for Fen’Falon. The elven mage was staggering to her feet, a indescribable feeling of loss rushing through her. Holding onto that much magic had been….exhilarating, amazing, incredible, the most complete Fen’Falon had ever felt. Cassandra put a hand to Fen’Falon’s back as the elf stood and raised a victorious fist. Solas and the circle mages joined her and suddenly the courtyard was filled with cheering.

They’d done it. The breach was sealed.

Everyone was nearly skipping down the mountain back to Haven. Fen’Falon was thoughtful, wondering what this meant for her, and for the mysterious Elder One who had originally opened the breach. She had a feeling that he would be distinctly unhappy with this turn of events, which meant it was only a matter of time before Haven was attacked.

Time enough for those thoughts tomorrow though - Josephine had outdone herself given the Inquisition’s limited resources at Haven and thrown a party to be remembered. The faithful, the townsfolk, the mages, and the Inquisition were all cheering and shouting in the streets.  Those who had some skill with instruments played them, and the tavern singers had already come up with a song or two about Fen’Falon from the sound of things. Conversation briefly halted as she passed others, but the cheering redoubled in strength once she had moved on.

 The Inquisition was one step closer to restoring order.


	19. It Begins

Screams rent the air. Torches, visible only as bright motes of light, reflected off the mountainside snow as the army of the Elder One approached. Something that sounded suspiciously like a cry for help came from outside the main gate.

“Cullen, open that gate!” Fen’Falon cried. The gates swung open to reveal a very thin human in ragged clothing. The pitiful picture was completed by an overlarge hat that appeared to be a cross between a foot soldier’s helmet and a lady’s sunhat and badly cut blond hair poking out from underneath it. The boy - he seemed far too young to be a man - ran inside and the gates were shut once more. Fen’Falon assumed that he had been left outside by accident, only realising his mistake when the army approached.

Cullen’s soldiers engaged the enemy. “These are Templars,” Cullen said. “Look, there, you can see Samson on that rise!” Fen’Falon followed Cullen’s pointing finger to the rise in question. A man stood there in mirror-bright armor, the insignia of the Templar Order etched into the breastplate. As they watched, another figure rose up the rise to join Samson. This figure was one that Fen’Falon had only seen in her nightmares. Grotesque, it was hard to tell if it had ever been human. It looked as though an arcane horror and a darkspawn had somehow merged together and acquired a human face. Not that the face was any better - red lyrium jutted out from the jawbone, the terrible red glow easily visible to Fen’Falon’s elven eyes.

“Shit,” Fen’Falon said. “I think that’s the Elder One next to him, Commander. Rally your men. We need to bury his army as fast as possible or else this is going to turn out ugly. I need to get to one of the trebuchets.”

“Good plan, Herald. I’ll order my men to get the others firing as well. With any luck, we can stop this attack before it really begins.”

“Cassandra, Solas, Varric, I need you guys with me! We have to stop this attack!” Fen’Falon called as she ran. The other three followed her as she ran through the gates to the nearest trebuchet. It stood nearly as tall as the town walls and was made almost entirely out of wood. Inquisition soldiers had already begun to prep it for firing, so Fen’Falon directed her three friends and herself to guard against the incoming attackers.

It felt like an hour that they stood there, guards up, waiting for the enemy to show. The first of the enemy soldiers came up the hill. He had been a Templar once, Fen’Falon thought, and likely still thought of himself as one despite the red lyrium protruding from his chest and shoulders.

“Well, now we know what the Templars were doing!” she said. The group engaged the enemy: ice and fire spells slung by Fen’Falon and Solas, Cassandra swung sword and shield from amidst the enemy, and Varric rained arrows down on any unprotected body parts. Enemy templars fell to the Inquisition by the dozen and still they came on.

“The trebuchet is ready, serah!” an Inquisition soldier shouted.

“I’ll get it firing, maybe we can get an avalanche rolling down that mountainside,” Fen’Falon said to the group.

“We’ll hold them off,” Cassandra said. “Go ahead.”

Fen’Falon holstered her staff and ran for the trebuchet. A few turns of the aiming gear had it pointed right at the mountain side. She raised a hand for the soldier on the firing mechanism to see, waited not more than five heartbeats, and dropped her hand. A loud “twang!” came from the trebuchet and the mechanism rotated around itself to fling an enormous rock into the air. Fen’Falon watched as it arced over the closest invaders, over the rise where Samson and the Elder One stood, and came down into the mountainside. A nearly perfect hit, by her mark. She watched as snow and trees came tumbling down on the invaders in that section to bury the templars.

More of the invaders had come up the hill to attack the trebuchet once more. Fen’Falon grasped her staff and threw lightning at them, rejoining her companions in battle. Once the invading templars were cleared, the group took a moment to regain their breath.

“Who else needs help?” Fen’Falon asked the nearby soldiers. A female scout ran up to Fen’Falon and the others.

“The southern trebuchet isn’t firing, Herald,” the scout said.

“Alright, then that’s where we’re going. You all can hold out here?”

The scout looked around. “We should manage, your worship.”

“Okay. Varric, Cass, Solas, the southern trebuchet needs our help!”

They arrived to find it overrun with templars, the Inquisition soldiers just barely holding on. A quick and furious battle ensued with spells flung every which way as they reflected off templar shields, the sounds of battle lost in the greater noise from the army. Wave after wave of the enemy templars crashed into the group, and Fen’Falon heard a cry as the last Inquisition soldier was killed. She redoubled her efforts to beat back the tide and succeeded.

None were left to man the trebuchet thought, so Fen’Falon ran up to the mechanism and began to turn the gear to bring the trebuchet up to a firing state. Fen’Falon set it loose and the rock arced into the mountainside. This time, the result she had been hoping for - an avalanche was spawned, burying the entire invading army under tons of snow and debris. The Inquisition soldiers who made their way up to the trebuchet began to cheer.

Over the cheer Fen’Falon heard a whining noise, like that of a fire about to explode. “Get down!” she shouted. A fireball wreathed with a feral red glow impacted the trebuchet, sending chunks and splinters of wood everywhere. The force of the blast drove everyone near the trebuchet into the ground. A blighted dragon - an archdaemon, unless Fen’Falon missed her guess - dove over the trebuchet in the wake of the fireball.

“Shit,” Fen’Falon said. “We need to get back to Cullen - he was here for the Blight, maybe he knows what that thing is and how to kill it.”

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “I cannot believe it could be a true archdaemon, though.”

They ran for the gate to Haven, sliding inside as Cullen shepherded Inquisition soldiers through before he closed the gate behind them.

“We need to get everyone inside the Chantry,” Cullen said. “It’s the only building stable enough to withstand that...that thing.”

“That’s it?” Fen’Falon asked. “We’re just going to hole up as they overrun us?”

Cullen looked unhappy. “If that is truly an archdaemon, then we have lost already, Herald. All that remains is to make them work for their victory, at least.”

Fen’Falon grimaced. This was not how closing the breach was supposed to go, damn it. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll round up any remaining townsfolk and get them to the Chantry. With any luck you or one of the others can come up with a better plan once everyone is safe.”

Enemy templars came up over the walls to attack the few townspeople left outside as Fen’Falon went to work. Cast a spell, barrier on Cassandra or Varric or herself, cast lightning, space to breathe. The group had taken out the nearest templars. Fen’Falon led them through the rest of the village and repeated the sequence as she pulled folk from burning houses, or out from under a fallen beam, and brought them to the Chantry. Finally she could hear no further calls for help and made her own way into the once-proud building. The doors shut behind her.

“Herald, we are in trouble. That dragon has undone what good you managed with the trebuchets,” Cullen said. He ran up to Fen’Falon, the other Inquisition leaders close behind.

“Do we know what they want?” Fen’Falon asked.

“No. There hasn’t been any communication at all.”

“He wants you,” a soft voice said. It was the strange boy from earlier.

“Excuse me?” Fen’Falon said.

“All this to get to you. You stole from him, and he wants it back.”

“I don’t give a shit what he wants. The question is how to keep him from it. Cullen, do we have another trebuchet left?”

“Bury Haven? That could work…” Cullen said.

“There is...a way out. Through the Chantry. From before the Temple was built. It leads...into the mountains,” an injured cleric nearby rasped. “Andraste herself must have shown me this option for you all. Go, take it.”

“And I will hold the line,” Fen’Falon said. “The Elder One wants me, well, I don’t come easy.”

“And what happens to you then, Herald?” Cullen asked.

“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Have _faith_ , Commander,” Fen’Falon said with a cheeky grin. “Get the people and our soldiers to safety.”

Soldiers ran forward. “They’ll load the trebuchet for you, Herald.” Cullen directed soldiers and townsfolk deeper into the Chantry. “Your job is to keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line, and then fire.”

“I’ll get it so pissed off it won’t know where else to look, Commander,” Fen’Falon replied.

Fen’Falon, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas walked out of the Chantry, ready to make one final stand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Long chapter today. The next one should be close behind - Haven seems to like being in the story.


	20. Corypheus

While they planned inside the Chantry, Haven had been overrun by templars and soldiers. Fires were everywhere, and Fen’Falon had a difficult time fighting with the others through the smoke and ash. They would run only to be halted by another group of templars. The group engaged quickly and dispatched the templars with ease so they could run forward once more to the trebuchet.

The trebuchet was overrun as well, which resulted in furious fighting between Fen’Falon and her companions and the templars. It was the work of minutes to clear them out, but the trebuchet was facing in completely the wrong direction and had to be re-aimed.

“Watch my back?” Fen’Falon asked the group. They all either nodded or assented and turned to face the directions the enemy would come from. Fen’Falon turned the gear mechanism, throwing her whole body into it to aim the trebuchet. She had not gotten very far before a new wave of attackers found them. Templars with lyrium growing from their armour attacked alongside soldiers. Once felled, Fen’Falon felt the ground shudder. Something larger was coming.

It rounded the corner. The beast had once been a human, that much was certain. Blighted growths covered the creature such that it stood nearly twice Fen’Falon’s height. The Dalish mage could see red lyrium in between the growths and growing from its chest. Was this what the templars were being turned into, she wondered. Cassandra and Varric engaged the monster while she and Solas flung spells at it, alternately freezing and burning it. A well-timed swipe from Cassandra brought the beast down, and one final spell from Fen’Falon killed it. The Dalish elf ran back to the mechanism for the trebuchet and continued aiming it.

They were interrupted by enemy soldiers twice more before Fen’Falon had the trebuchet correctly aimed. The archdaemon-dragon thing was still swooping around and setting fire to Haven. As the creature flew out over the valley to come around for another pass, Fen’Falon saw it take aim at her and her companions.

“Shit! Everybody run!” Fen’Falon shouted. The dragon blew fire at the group, thankfully missing the trebuchet, but the fire set the ground and nearby boxes alight. One of them must have contained flour - it exploded and sent Fen’Falon tumbling to the ground. Her ears rang shrilly as she returned to her feet. Her companions must have made it away safely, for she saw no sign of them through the raging flames. A figure strode through the fire, taller than any man had right to be. It was the obscene figure from earlier - the Elder One. The fire didn’t even seem to dare go near the thing, a testament to the amount of power it held.

The Elder One advanced on the elf and she backed away, hoping to get enough distance to run. Her retreat was blocked when the dragon landed behind her, trapping her between the two. At least its attention was gotten, she thought wryly. The dragon’s skin hung loosely on its skeletal frame, pieces of Blighted flesh and lyrium intermingled. Bones were visible in some places through gaps in the skin, and the stench - oh the stench would stay with her forever. Like rotting fish and eggs, coupled with soured milk and plagued corpses.

“Enough!” The Elder One cried. Even his voice was an abomination, human tones submerged under a reverberating power of sorts. The Elder One raised his arms and the fires lept to his call to cut off any escape Fen’Falon might have had.

“Pretender,” he called to Fen’Falon. “No more shall you play with forces you cannot even hope to understand.”

“Can’t we just talk this over like normal people?” Fen’Falon asked. She knew the Elder One wouldn’t agree, but a part of her had to try - all thinking beings could be reasoned with, if only one knew the right path to take. She wondered if he had even heard her.

“Know me, pretender. Know what you have pretended to. Bow before the Elder One. The will and power that is only Corypheus.”

So it had a name. And an ego, apparently. Fen’Falon wondered if there was a way that she could get to the trebuchet and fire it - this Corypheus was suitably distracted by her and an avalanche should be able to blindside him.

“You will kneel before me,” Corypheus told her.

“Get bent!” Fen’Falon shouted at him.

“Your resistance matters not,” said Corypheus. He raised a hand again, an orb clutched in his fingers. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins...now.” At his words, the orb began to glow the same blighted red as red lyrium. The mark in Fen’Falon’s hand responded in kind, the green glow sending waves of pain down her arm. She tried her best to keep it from rising to meet the orb.

“This is all your fault, _herald_. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying like a good little hero, you _stole_ its purpose,” Corypheus said. Fen’Falon nearly smiled - he was monologuing, just like villains from the old tales. His need to hear himself speak would give her the opportunity she needed to complete her task. Corypheus twisted his free hand and the mark flared up, the pain growing close to the way it had felt before she closed that first rift.

“I don’t know how you survived,” the Elder One continued. “But the very thing that marks you as ‘touched’ in the eyes of others, the thing that you flail like a child at the rifts - I crafted that to assault the very heavens themselves!” Corypheus made a fist and the pain drove Fen’Falon to the ground on her hands and knees. The dragon drew close to her, its fetid breath making her gag.

“You used that anchor undo all my work. The gall!”

“Do you ever shut up?” Fen’Falon quipped. “Or do your subordinates have to listen to this bullshit all day?” Probably not her wisest moment, snarking at a seemingly all-powerful enemy, but her position was pretty hopeless, and the snark helped her stay focused.

Corypheus strode to stand above the Dalish mage and picked her up by her marked hand. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another,” he said, letting Fen’Falon dangle by her wrist above the fires. “To serve the old gods of the empire in _person_. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For one thousand years and more I was confused. No more.”

He drew Fen’Falon closer to his blighted and misformed face. “I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods and it was _empty_.” Fen’Falon spat on his face and Corypheus threw Fen’Falon into the trebuchet in retaliation. By the grace of the Creators, the terrible creature had thrown her the one place she wanted to be.

“The anchor is permanent,” Corypheus said as he advanced on her once more. “You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” An Inquisition blade rested on the platform nearby and Fen’Falon grabbed for it. Her staff was lost to the fires, but at least this way she had _something_ to defend herself with. The dragon advanced with Corypheus.

“So be it,” said the Elder One. Fen’Falon saw a signal flare in the distance behind Corypheus - the people of Haven and the Inquisition had made it past the tree line. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation - and _God_ \- it requires. And _you_. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die.”

Fen’Falon edged herself closer to the firing mechanism and brought the sword into a weak guard position.

“You’re an arrogant, pompous asshole,” she said. “It blinds you. It can be _used_ against you. If I’m going to die, it sure as hell won’t be today!” Fen’Falon brought a foot down against the firing mechanism and set it off. The trebuchet spun around and flung one last boulder into the mountainside.

The Creators must have been with her in that moment, for the boulder did exactly as it was supposed to - it set off the avalanche that would bury Haven, and hopefully bury this egotistical madman with it. His attention caught by the oncoming snow, Fen’Falon took the opportunity to run as fast as she could away from Corypheus. The dragon roared, but Fen’Falon kept running, even though she knew it likely that Corypheus would ride the beast out of the avalanche. Fen’Falon ran and ran, until she fell into an open hole and landed inside an ancient mining tunnel beneath Haven. The snow caused the ground to tremble and she scrambled for cover, unwilling to be smothered in cold and wet. Snow poured in through the hole so quickly that it overwhelmed even Fen’Falon’s hiding place. The impact of the snow slamming into her cause Fen’Falon to black out.

* * *

 

She woke later, unable to tell time from the the snow that now sealed her in. Fen’Falon did not even want to attempt to dig her way through. That meant finding a way through the tunnels. Slowly but surely Fen’Falon picked her way forward, the tunnels occasionally shaking as more snow threatened to destabilise the whole system.

Wraiths ahead of her gave the elf pause. Tired, hungry, wet, and sore, Fen’Falon did not even think as she channeled power through her left hand at them. A bright green flash lit the tunnel crossroads and Fen’Falon blinked. When she opened her eyes, the wraiths were gone, vanished into puffs of ectoplasm from whatever _that_ had been. Somehow, she had channeled power through the mark - the _anchor_ \- and annihilated the wraiths. She wondered if it would work on larger demons as well.

Fen’Falon could see light ahead and almost ran for it. An exit, thank Andruil for showing her the path. There was only blowing snow, the wind fierce and unrelenting, but Fen’Falon could see what appeared to be a campfire farther out and made for that, stumbling through the snow and wind.


	21. The Dawn Will Come

Perhaps it was easier this way, Solas thought. The avalanche had buried Haven and the Dalish - Fen’Falon - with it. He had watched as she stood in front of Corypheus. She was beautiful in her defiance, and he could see that his power had indeed changed her - she stood taller, her ears a little more pointed, her face a little less round. In all, she was more elvhen than elven now, by the looks of things. He wondered what Corypheus had said to her.

He still needed to find either another orb or an alternative power source, and it would be easier without being tied to this Inquisition group. Each time the refugees made camp farther into the mountains, he moved his tent a little further away from them, created distance so that it would not seem strange when he left. Solas told himself he was delaying his inevitable leave to make it seem more natural to the heads of the Inquisition, he certainly wasn’t staying in the far-flung hope that Fen’Falon would somehow come back to them. He wasn’t staying in the hope that he could have more conversations with the only Dalish whose presence he had yet been able to more than tolerate. He wasn’t staying because she was the closest thing to another elvhen he had yet found. No, Solas was staying only so that the Inquisition had no reason to be suspicious of him.

So when a shout came from where Cullen watched the approach to camp - “It’s her!” - Solas did his best to ignore the happy lurch in his heart, affected indifference and remained in camp even though a part of him longed to run with the advisors to confirm. He left the main area of camp as they brought her in, tried to ignore the pain it brought him to see her bruised and broken. The ancient elf allowed Mother Giselle and others to see to Fen’Falon’s healing, not trusting his traitorous heart to be in close proximity to her.

Once she was settled he did steal over to the healers’ tents to check on her. Even under a number of blankets, Fen’Falon was cold to the touch, ears and nose edged with frostbite. Somehow, against all the odds, she had made her way through the snowstorm to them. Solas wondered if it had been his power calling to itself or if she had seen the campfires. He carefully brushed a stray hair off the woman’s face, marveling at how peaceful she looked in her sleep.

Solas moved away when Mother Giselle came by again, not wanting to spotted in a position that might suggest he _cared_ for the Dalish mage. His feet took to a position a little ways out from the center of camp and he watched from there for days as the Inquisition’s leaders quarreled with each other. None were sure of what to do next, save that they had to do _something_.

Perhaps - yes, perhaps Tarasyl’an Te’las would work, with the right leadership. If Fen’Falon awoke, he would speak to her and see what her plans for the future of the Inquisition were. If they meshed well with his own needs, he would gift her the place where once he had laboured to rend the Fade from Thedas - the place where the sky was held back.

For two days the Inquisition camped there, waiting for its precious Herald of Andraste to awaken. Many were calling it a miracle, for all had seen the avalanche bury a once-proud town. Saved from the Fade, and now from death itself, even the most skeptical of the Haven folk believed in the Herald now. Solas smirked to himself - he alone knew the truth of Fen’Falon’s so-called miracles, but he would not spoil it for them. Faith could carry a group far indeed, and the world needed the Inquisition. Corypheus had escaped their trap, and the Inquisition would need to exert a great deal more effort to thwart him and bring a semblance of order back to Thedas.

The Inquisition leaders were having a loud argument again when Fen’Falon finally awoke.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Leliana said.

“Well that much is true at least,” Cullen replied. Solas did not catch what Mother Giselle said to Fen’Falon, but whatever it was spurred the elf to break apart the argument. Solas watched as Mother Giselle tried to keep her patient in bed, but Fen’Falon displayed her stubborn streak and stumbled her way to the front of the tent. Fen’Falon continued walking forward and physically inserted herself into the ongoing argument. Silence dropped as the Inquisition leaders saw her there, looks of embarrassment crossing their faces. Solas almost chuckled at that, to see the leaders made to look like errant children in the face of their saviour. None of them spoke further to each other.

From the healers’ tent came Mother Giselle’s voice, raspy and thready, but a singing voice nonetheless.

“Shadows fall,” she sang, “And hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come.” It was an old Andrastian chant, one which Solas suspected all in the camp knew. Mother Giselle walked forward out of the tent still singing, and soon Leliana and Cullen joined her in song. Solas watched from his space between tents as the song drew Inquisition soldiers and Haven faithful alike into the center of the camp, all of them singing with the leaders. Fen’Falon looked mildly confused - she did not know the words, but there was a power in the song that could not be denied.

As the people approached their Herald they knelt in front of her, Mother Giselle coming to stand at Fen’Falon’s side. Soon the whole of the camp could be seen, singing and kneeling in front of their blessed prophetess. Solas felt a grin creeping onto his face and did his best to surpress it as he made brief eye contact with Fen’Falon. He made his way around the tents - there may not be a better time to speak to Fen’Falon about her interaction with Corypheus, to make sure that even Corypheus did not know whose orb he misused so greatly. Mother Giselle said something to Fen’Falon before moving to speak to the faithful, and Solas took his chance.

“A moment, if you will,” he said to the Dalish mage. Fen’Falon turned to look at him and nodded. She followed behind him up a nearby hill, to a spot where he had planted a veilfire torch from which to watch over the camp. He lit the torch with a casual gesture and contemplated what precisely was safe to reveal to Fen’Falon.

“The humans have not raised one of our own so high for ages beyond counting,” Solas told her. In truth, not since the time of Arlathan before he locked away the others had an elvhen had so much respect and faith directed at them. Fen’Falon likely did not realise it, but the inflow of power from that faith would be gathered by the mark of his power upon her - she would be nearly a goddess herself if the faithful continued to grow. A worthy lover, even, if he allowed himself a moment of selfish thought.

“Their faith is hard-won, lethallin,” Solas continued. “Worthy of pride… Save one detail.” Fen’Falon tilted her head quizzically at him, a clear question for clarification, and moved closer to both him and the veilfire. “The threat Corypheus wields? That orb he carries? It is ours. He used the orb to open the breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived...and we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

“How...how do you know it is elven? And what is it exactly?” Fen’Falon asked. Solas clasped his hands behind his back, unconsciously taking a teaching position of sorts.

“Such things are known as foci, said to channel power from the gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of the pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins, and faint visions of memory in the Fade, echoes of a dead empire. But however Corypheus came by it, the orb is elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

Fen’Falon looked thoughtful. “They’ll find a way to blame us anyway,” she said bitterly. “Whether or not they know that orb is of the People.”

“History has shown us that much, lethallin. The only way to avoid bloodshed is for the others to trust you. Regardless, that trust cannot grow out here in the cold. You will need every advantage. By attacking the Inquisition, Corypheus has changed it. Has changed _you_.”

Fen’Falon nodded, a look of determination in her eyes. He would give her Tarasyl’an Te’las to use for the Inquisition, he decided.

“If you scout to north, be their guide, there is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, grow. It is called Skyhold - Tarasyl’an Te’las - the place where the sky is held back.”

“What is it?” Fen’Falon said.

“An ancient elvhen fortress of sorts,” Solas replied. “You should be the one to tell the others, lethallin.”

“I will,” said Fen’Falon. She turned away from him to head back to the camp, then stopped and twisted around to look at Solas once more. Her face softened almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you, Solas.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of Solas's dialogue is lifted right out of the game - I felt that his words here were too important to mess around with without changing them past their intended purpose.


	22. Tarasyl'an Te'las

It took them nearly a week to draw close to Skyhold, with Fen’Falon scouting forward using Solas’s hints. It hadn’t snowed again, which Fen’Falon was glad for. She was mighty tired of being wet for most of a day, let alone having to deal with more of the stuff. She led the entire group of refugees and stopped frequently to let them catch up to her current position. Solas was usually close at hand, a gesture that Fen’Falon appreciated.

“Have you been to Tarasyl’an Te’las, Solas?” she asked him one day. She was determined to use the proper name for the place, even if the others did not.

“Not for many years,” Solas said. Fen’Falon perked up at the answer.

“So you _have_ been there, though?”

“Yes, I have.” Solas almost looked uncomfortable, Fen’Falon thought.

“What is it like?”

“You’ll see in a day or two, my impatient friend.” Fen’Falon made a face and turned away from Solas.

“At least tell me if it is a crumbling ruin or not?”

“It is not a crumbling ruin.”

Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes at Solas then grinned as an idea hit her. She would get back at Solas for being decidedly unforthcoming about what would hopefully be their new home. The mage gathered her will and used it to shape a snowball, carefully keeping it out of Solas’s sight.

“Solas,” she said as she turned to look at him. “I think Varric wants to talk to you.” Her words had the desired effect - Solas turned to walk back to Varric’s position in the line of people. And that is when she struck. _Splat_. A perfect shot right into the back of Solas’s head. Fen’Falon giggled with glee. He paused, then turned to look at Fen’Falon. She gulped - he did not look as amused as she was. Suddenly, her legs were yanked out from underneath her and she fell into the calf-deep snow. More snow flew on top of her, neatly burying the Dalish woman up to her head.

“Solas!” Fen’Falon cried. The other elf drew near Fen’Falon’s snow-covered body.

“It is not wise to toy with powers you do not yourself know, _da’len_ ,” Solas said with a grin, and left Fen’Falon fuming there to be dug up by a laughing Dorian. For a moment there he had reminded her of the white wolf from Haven.

“What was that he called you at the end there?” Dorian asked. The Tevinter mage seemed right at home in the snow despite hailing from warmer climes. His clothing was as white as ever and seemingly untouched by the dirt and dust.

“ _Da’len_?”

“That, yes.”

“It is from the ancient elven language. It’s used as a diminutive, usually for a child,” Fen’Falon said. Or, in the case of Solas to her, likely a bit of a jab at her attempt to surprise the older elven mage.

“I thought Solas was not a Dalish?”

“He isn’t,” Fen’Falon muttered. “Though he seems to know far more of my people than he should, given that.”

“Oh come on, Icy, you have to at least admit that was funny!” Varric said as he caught up to the pair.

Fen’Falon glared at the dwarf. “ _I_ didn’t think so.”

“You did start it, Fen,” Dorian said.

“So?”

“You don’t think that his retaliation was fair?” asked the Tevinter.

“No. It was completely out of proportion to my little snowball.”

“Still funny,” said Varric. Fen’Falon used her magic to craft a snowball as large as Varric’s head and hefted it threateningly at him. Varric raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “All right, all right, I’ll let it lie, Icy.”

“Good.” Fen’Falon dropped the snowball on him anyways, prompting laughter from Dorian and herself.

“I suppose I deserved that,” said Varric. Fen’Falon just laughed and skipped forwards to catch up with Solas.

 

* * *

 

Fen’Falon’s first view of Tarasyl’an Te’las was breathtaking as she climbed the final rise. A caldera nestled inside the mountain range, likely an ancient blown-out volcano going by the shape. Snow covered the surrounding peaks up to a point, but farther up the air was too cold and too thin for even that to accumulate.

On an ancient lava plume long since frozen in time rested a fortress, just as Solas had said. It didn’t look like anything elven that Fen’Falon had seen and she wondered about its construction. Tarasyl’an Te’las was a mostly square fortress with a single bridge leading out to a guard tower. From the tower stairs spiralled down the spire, leading to the valley floor. The keep itself was all gray stone, and tattered banners from ancient times fluttered from the battlements.

Fen’Falon hoped the gates were not rusted shut, or that if they were it was something immediately fixable. The Dalish mage stood at the top of the rise and Solas came to stand with her.

“Skyhold,” he said. Solas looked at her in a way she had never seen him do, similar to the way Keeper Deshanna had looked as she received her vallaslin. Proud. Solas looked proud. Fen’Falon wondered if he was proud of her for making it here, or if there was some other source for the oddly placed emotion.

A ragged cheer went up from behind them as the other refugees as they caught sight of Skyhold. They had made it through the snow and wind and Creators only knew what else. Fen’Falon suspected there was a lot of work to be done to the keep to make it truly liveable, but at least they had tents in the meantime.

The walk to the guard tower was little more than an hour, possibly less. Even up close like this, Skyhold was beautiful to look at. It must have been glorious in its original time - Fen’Falon briefly wondered if Solas could show her memories of it in the Fade later. Dust and dirt had infected every corner of the tower, and plants were even growing out of some of the cracks between stones. It was, however, in one piece, which gave Fen’Falon hope for the keep itself.

Fen’Falon gathered the other Inquisition leaders and the recent additions to the group together to check out the keep.

“Our goal is to make sure it won’t fall over,” she told everyone. “Make sure that any critters are dead and gone, and that the keep is usable enough that we can live there while we repair it.”

“It is a defensible location,” Cullen added. “Repairing the outer walls should be our first priority, if they need it.”

“Everyone on the same page? Good. Let’s get to it!” Fen’Falon was first on the bridge, first to reach the gates of the keep that Solas had directed them towards. She almost said a thankful prayer to June that the gate had managed to rust open instead of closed, allowing the ragtag band to duck under it and into the keep courtyard. Everything was overrun by weeds and plants it seemed. Grass poked up from in between stones on the stairs, and any paths that might have existed in the courtyard were long since overgrown. It was going to be a lot of work to get the keep presentable again.

Further in they saw the first signs of rubble - a staircase to a battlement that had crumbled down over the centuries. The keep itself wasn’t in much better condition, with loose stones and rubble littering the floors alongside bits of rotting wood and cloth. Tattered and bleached banners hung loosely from the walls, and a pile of rotten and broken wood rested on the dais of the main hall. The group split up and began to hunt through the myriad rooms and halls for any sign of an infestation of creatures or wayward vines.

It was going to be a very long few days, moving the Inquisition and the refugees into Tarasyl’an Te’las.

 


	23. Inquisitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally to Skyhold! Damned but it's been a long time coming - now I get to really work on that promised romance! :P

Over the following week the Inquisition gradually moved into Skyhold, assigning quarters and distributing goods to the people. Rubble was cleared away to make space in the courtyard, and repair work started on the more essential sections - the outer walls, battlements, and the stairs that led to them. The interior of the keep itself needed the most work, but all agreed with Cullen’s decision to secure their position first, which meant that rubble was everywhere inside. Spaces were cleared for a few chairs and tables here and there, and Josephine claimed an antechamber room for her office. The hallway from there led to what they were going to use as the new War Room, and Leliana had some workers cutting a table for the oversized map to rest on.

Fen’Falon stepped out of the tower room she was using temporarily and paused, enjoying the sight of everyone running around doing things. The Inquisition leaders were all huddled together across the courtyard from her, deep in conversation about something. Cassandra saw the mage and beckoned her to join the group. Fen’Falon was surprised and pleased at continuing to be included in the decisions of these leaders - it meant they trusted her and hopefully valued her opinion. Realistically though, Fen’Falon was nearly certain that she was only included because she was the supposed Herald of Andraste. She was there so the people had faith in the decisions being made, so that they saw the Inquisition leaders working with their saviour. Fen’Falon didn’t mind, not really, since it also meant that she occasionally got to actually make decisions.

As Fen’Falon walked up to the group, all except Cassandra walked away. Fen’Falon had a paranoid thought that they had been discussing her but quickly drove it from her mind.

“The people are coming in daily from all over,” Cassandra said. “Some see it as a pilgrimage.” Cassandra stepped away from Fen’Falon and indicated that the elven mage should follow.

“The Elder One surely knows about us now, if this many people have heard.” Cassandra led Fen’Falon up one of the intact stairs that led into the upper courtyard. “We have walls and the people to defend ourselves with, but the threat he poses is beyond the war the Inquisition is equipped to handle. But we now know what allowed you to stand against him and what drew him to target you.”

Fen’Falon paused and Cassandra stopped as well. Fen’Falon raised her left hand, the mark still glowing a strong green even now. “He wanted this. He called it the Anchor. And now it’s bonded to me or somesuch and useless to him, so he wants me dead. There’s nothing special to it.”

Cassandra gave Fen’Falon a look that she couldn’t read and continued walking. “Yes, the Anchor has power, but that is not why you are still standing here. Your decisions allowed us to heal the sky. Your determination aided us out of Haven. You are that _thing_ ’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us.”

They came to the only intact stair that led into the keep’s main hall and Fen’Falon followed Cassandra up to the first landing. On the landing was Leliana, holding an enormous greatsword that Fen’Falon had never before seen. She wondered if they had forged here at Tarasyl’an Te’las or if they had somehow brought it from Haven. As they approached Leliana, Cassandra turned to face Fen’Falon and stopped.

“The Inquisition needs a leader: the one who has _already_ been leading it,” said Cassandra. Fen’Falon looked out over the lower courtyard and saw that Cullen and Josephine had gathered the Inquisition’s soldiers and followers. The advisors had ambushed her with this offer and there was no good way to refuse it. Now Fen’Falon understood. She was to be a figurehead, a symbol for the people who had followed her here to Skyhold, for the people who had seen her stand up to Corypheus in Haven. Fen’Falon could live with that, she thought.

“It needs _you_ ,” Cassandra told her.

“You would have a mage - a _Dalish_ _elven_ _mage_ \- lead your Inquisition?” Fen’Falon asked. “Are you sure?”

“You are the one the people look to. You are the one who can stand against Corypheus.”

Fen’Falon sighed. She hated being ambushed like this. “Fine. What do I need to do?”

“Take up the sword. What it means for our future, how you lead us, that is up to you.” Fen’Falon thought it almost sounded like Cassandra was serious about letting her lead the Inquisition, which was madness. No world leader would listen to a Dalish mage, regardless of the kind of power and reputation backing her. Either way, as a figurehead or as a leader in truth, Fen’Falon didn’t think she really had a choice. If the Inquisition wanted to continue as it was, it needed her and the power of this mysterious Anchor.

The sword in Leliana’s hands was a thing of beauty. The blade was mirror-bright like Templar armour, and the hilt was a work of art. Made from what appeared to be drakestone and bronze, a slender wingless dragon coiled about the guard such that its head rested on the blade itself. The pommel was simply a fatter piece of the hilt, but it served to counterbalance the weapon nicely. Fen’Falon grasped it by the hilt and lifted, stunned by how lightweight the blade was. Whatever the cutting edge was made from, it was not steel.

“I will do this,” Fen’Falon said. “An elf will stand for the Inquisition, for us all, to show the world that prejudice can be overcome. I’m not some chosen one to lead the charge - I want it known that I lead _because_ I chose to do so. And I _will_ lead us to a path without Corypheus, without the breach.”

“I am with you wherever you choose to lead us,” Cassandra said. The Seeker and Leliana turned to stand on either side of Fen’Falon.

“Have the Inquisition’s people been told?” Fen’Falon asked Josephine. The Rivaini stood forward from the crowd in the lower courtyard.

“They have. And soon the world will know,” Josephine said.

“Commander,” Fen’Falon directed to Cullen. “Will they follow me?” She wondered if any of the advisors save Leliana - who always seemed to know everything - knew that she was testing the boundaries of her power.

Cullen turned to the crowd and repeated the question. He was met with an enthusiastic cheer. “Will you fight for us?” he asked. The crowd cheered again. Cullen unsheathed his sword and held it aloft with one final rally cry: “Your leader! Your Herald! Your _Inquisitor_!”

Fen’Falon took that as her cue to raise the dragon-sword high. The sun caught her face as she did, making her eyes appear bright gold and her hair a deep red, fey and otherworldly when combined with her elfin features. The cheering grew and grew until Fen’Falon could swear that she felt it under her skin and in her bones. She thought she would remember this moment for the rest of her life.

With the chain of command settled, the new Inquisitor and her newly-minted advisors entered the keep. Josephine had already claimed an office space, and Cullen seemed to want to be out in the courtyard or a tower adjacent to it in order to be closer to his soldiers and recruits. The group of five pointed and argued and finally settled on who went where and had what space inside the keep so that they would not step on each others’ toes trying to find things and get organised.

The largest suite of rooms was given to Fen’Falon, and only one staircase led to it from the main hall. It was large enough that Fen’Falon thought if she opened all the balcony doors, she could almost pretend she slept outside, as she preferred. For some reason the advisors balked at the idea that she wanted to sleep in what had clearly once been a garden, insisting that the leader of the Inquisition have rooms inside the keep. Josephine was naturally the most vocal, and further insisted that she be allowed to furnish the room. Fen’Falon did not think anyone but herself and Josephine would ever see the space, though, so she let the Rivaini lady have her way. The balconies looked out over the caldera, a view filled with snow-covered mountains and scraggly trees that managed to survive the mountaintop weather, a view that suited Fen’Falon perfectly fine.

 


	24. Fading

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter (more than 2k words!), it wouldn't let me split it. Also, we finally get some romance :)

Once enough of the rubble had been cleared from the keep, Solas was quick to claim a space as his own. It had been his during the glory days of the fortress, and he was glad of the chance to be there again. The space was a circular room on the main keep level, with doors that led outside, out to the main hall, and up to what was fast becoming a library and a place for Leliana’s conspiracy of ravens to roost. The top of the room was open to the library and roost levels to let the most amount of sunlight from the upper windows stream in.

Back when the fortress was first built, Solas had painted a fresco in the room to tell one of the stories about him. Sadly, the painting was long since bleached out, lost to time and the elements. Solas commandeered a desk to place in the middle of the room for his work and research space, and got some of the workmen to put up a scaffold next to the wall so that he could paint again if the muse struck him.

Fen’Falon came into the rotunda a few days after she had been made Inquisitor.

“Inquisitor,” Solas said.

“Oh, _fenedhis_ , don’t you start on that too, Solas!” she cried.

“Then how shall I address you?” He was curious to see if the power affected her in any way. He somehow doubted it would - he had previously noted her focus and stubborn will.

“By name, maybe? Or even _lethallin_ as you did after Haven. Anything but that gods-forsaken title,” said Fen’Falon. Solas did his best to hide a tiny smirk. She did not appear to be happy with her new position, likely suspected that it was only a figurehead gesture. It was what he had surmised as well - she was too much of a figure in the Inquisition lore now for them to allow her free reign. The Dalish woman was trapped once more, this time in a prison made of responsibilities and decisions instead of one of iron and stone.

“Alright, _lethallin_. Was there something you wished to ask of me?” Fen’Falon gave him a quizzical look.

“Can you make any guesses about what Corypheus will do next?”

“Why ask me? Why not Cullen or Leliana? Surely they would know better than I.” Solas was nearly certain the woman could not have guessed his involvement with Corypheus, even after telling her a brief origin of the orb. If she had any suspicions about him, this would be the time to reveal them.

“Because I respect you, Solas. You’ve been all over the world, and dreamt with memories from ages past. You seem to have a unique perspective on things here.” A good reason, and Solas could not detect even a hint of suspicion from her regarding his true history.

“As you wish. What would you know?”

 

* * *

 

The rotunda in the Fade now matched the one in the waking world, thanks to a bearing down of Solas’s will. He was still working out what to paint on the walls when Fen’Falon walked into the room. Solas realised that she must be asleep - she looked exactly as she had earlier that day, her dark hair held back but with stray wisps escaping to fly free. She wore only her underrobes here in the Fade, her subconscious apparently felt safe enough to discard the armour that usually went over top. An ocean blue top held shut with silver clasps covered her torso and brown leather trousers her legs.  In the Fade, it was harder for Solas to push away the feeling of desire that crept over him at the sight. Without the modern robes to muddy her shape, it was clear to him that he had been right at Haven - his power was reshaping her to fit, making her more elvhen with every step, more demi-goddess than mortal with every new faithful that arrived at Skyhold with her name on their lips.

“You are back,” he said to her. If he was very lucky, she thought this reality and he would be able to use that to help hold back his feelings. Solas had been trying hard over the past few weeks to hide the fact that he had somehow come to care for her, to want to have her nearby, to debate elves and history and the Fade with this curious and strong-willed woman.

“I am,” Fen’Falon said.

“May I know why?”

“I got curious. I wanted to know more about you and your studies of the Fade and history.” Lavellan looked around. “If you’re not busy, that is.”

“You continue to surprise me,” Solas told her. He wondered if she would ever tire of learning about the things he had seen - he suspected not, given how many months it had been since she woke with the mark, and still she came to him for stories and answers. “All right, we may talk. Preferably somewhere more interesting than here.”

Solas brought his will to bear on the Fade and shifted himself and Fen’Falon to Haven as it had been before Corypheus, placing them on stairs that led into the town from the gate.

“Why here?” Fen’Falon asked. Solas did not think that she had even registered the shift. She was a mage, and ought to be able to recognise the Fade, although it was possible that both his conscious presence and the fact they started at Skyhold were confusing her ability to tell truth from fiction in her sleeping state.

“Because it is familiar,” Sols replied. “It will always be important to you.”

“We already talked about that on the way to Skyhold.” Solas shifted them to the cell underneath the Chantry where she had been held. The change of scene gave him an opportunity to also change the subject.

“I watched over you as you slept, studied the anchor,” he said. Fen’Falon turned to look at him, her eyes golden in the torchlight.

“I’m glad there was someone looking out for me,” the elven woman said softly.

“You were an enigma,” Solas said. More than she would ever know - somehow she had interrupted Corypheus's ritual and not only physically walked from the Fade, but come out of it with a piece of his godly power bonded to her flesh. No ordinary mortal should have been able to survive even one part of that event, let alone the entire sequence.

“You still are, in many ways,” Solas continued. “I tested everything I could think of, searched the Fade for answers, and yet found nothing. Cassandra suspected duplicity of me, that I was holding back to protect a fellow elf. She threatened to execute me as an apostate if I could not produce a result for her.”

For a moment, Fen’Falon looked like she would have been happy to drop Cassandra into a rift herself. Was it possible that the Dalish mage cared for him as he had come to care for her, Solas wondered.

“As if I would have let her,” Fen’Falon said fiercely.

“Yes, I imagine you would not have allowed it,” Solas said with a chuckle. He brought his will down on the Fade once more and shifted the pair outside the Chantry.

“You were never going to wake up,” said Solas. “It would be impossible, for a mortal to have returned from being sent physically into the Fade. I grew frustrated and frightened - the spirits I wanted to consult had been driven away by the breach. I wanted to help, but neither Cassandra nor I trusted the other - I also wanted to flee.” To run far and away, to hide from the monster he had unknowingly unleashed on the world. His power was never meant to be used like this - he had only wanted the orb unlocked so that he could finish the thing he had started eons ago.

“I’m glad you stayed,” said Fen’Falon. “Besides, Cassandra would have hunted you down - it’s in the name, Seeker.”

“You are almost certainly correct.” Solas turned to look at the memory of the breach that he had placed here. He called out a brief memory of trying it himself, only moments before Fen’Falon had arrived with Cassandra. “I told myself: one more attempt to close a rift. I tried and failed. Ordinary magic could not close them. I watched as they grew and spread, told myself time and again that it was past time to leave. And then..”

Solas showed Fen’Falon his memory of helping her to close the rift, his hand around her wrist and his power flung at the tear in the Veil. “You had sealed it with a gesture. And right then...I felt the whole world change.” He looked at Fen’Falon, his words played back in his head and realised how it sounded. He hoped she had not noticed.

“You felt the whole world change?” She noticed. How to recover? How to make it clear that there could be nothing between them?

“A figure of speech,” Solas said.

“I know what it is, Solas. I’m more interested in what you meant by ‘felt’...” Fen’Falon was grinning mischievously, the way she had during an early conversation in Haven where he complimented her indomitable focus. Fen’Falon was moving closer to him, within arms reach if he cared to do so. Here in the Fade, though, it was so much harder to control his feelings, to hide his instincts. It did not help that she seemed more elvhen here than in the waking world, his power helping to shape her.

“You change...everything,” Solas said softly. He took a step towards her, sure that his pesky emotions were displayed for her to see on his face. His control was fraying here, his power within the other mage warring with his own for control of the space.

“Sweet talker,” she said. To his utter surprise, Fen’Falon reached forward, pulled at his coat collar so that she was on tiptoes, and kissed him full on the lips, tentative and full of hope. Her green eyes seemed to sparkle suddenly, her lips more red than he remembered them being. He did not return the kiss, so taken by surprise at the move that he lacked the ability to respond in kind. Fen’Falon looked away, suddenly shy and unsure.

Solas was amazed - so the amazing woman did care for him, despite everything, even not knowing his true self. It had been so long since another had truly cared for him. To the Void with it. He knew this could only end badly but by the stars he wanted her. Solas gave a half shake of his head and reached for Fen’Falon, pulling her into him as he kissed her back. He kissed her and their lips met and she was the sweetest thing to him in that moment. Her arm crept around to hold him as her tongue pushed forward into his mouth. Stubborn and determined as ever, he thought, and returned the favour with his own. They broke for air and he kissed her again. Suddenly just seeing her was no longer enough, and Solas knew that he should head this off before one or both of them was damaged beyond repair by the way this had to end.

He pulled away from her with a longing glance. “We shouldn’t. It isn’t right, not even here…” With luck, she would not take that statement too poorly.

“What do you mean, ‘even here’?” she asked.

“We are in the Fade, _lethallin_.” He watched as the realisation crashed over her.”

“So this isn’t real?”

“That’s a matter for debate. Perhaps best discussed after you... _wake up_.” On the final two words Solas flexed his will one last time to eject the mage from the Fade. He wondered how much she would remember, for even if this went nowhere as it should, he would treasure this memory for years to come.

 


	25. Mired Kisses

She woke up with gasp. Fen’Falon had no idea where the urge to do it had come from, why it had popped into her head, but she had done. Creators help her, she had kissed Solas. Granted it was in the Fade, but for a mage, did that really make it any less real? After all, it was possible to make deals with demons in Fade dreams, so why not this? _Fenedhis_ , what if that had been a demon in disguise? A demon able to reach into her most buried thoughts and take the form of the elf that she wanted to keep around more than anything. Suddenly terrified of what she might have done, Fen’Falon dressed quickly in her clothing but left off the armoured portions. Skyhold was safe, and if she had made an unthinkable mistake it would be easier to kill her without the armour on.

Shit. She really hoped that it had actually been Solas - it had _seemed_ like Solas, talked like Solas, and Solas himself had told her that he liked to travel in the Fade like a Dreamer of old. But demons were good at pretending. Fen’Falon would go to him immediately. At best, it had been Solas and her questions would be a source of amusement between them. At worst, she would make a fool of herself and endanger everyone around her. Gods what a mess.

The new Inquisitor nearly flew down the stairs from her rooms and out to the rotunda where Solas was painting. When she wasn’t worried about being possessed, she would have to remember to ask him about it later.

Solas must have heard her tear into the room. “Sleep well?” he asked. Fen’Falon hoped that meant it had been him in her dream last night and not a demon.

“That was really you?”

“It was.”

Fen’Falon sagged with relief. “That was...that was amazing! I’ve never done that sort of thing before. Ever. On multiple levels.”

“Oh?”

“I mean, I knew you were a Dreamer, but that...gods, that was no ordinary dream. And you felt more...you felt more there if that makes any sense, Solas. Like you are part of a person out here in the real world and can only be your whole self in the Fade.” His presence had been damn near intoxicating to Fen’Falon, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. He would probably think her more strange than even he could handle if she said that sort of thing.

Solas chuckled, then looked a bit melancholy. “I...apologise, _lethallin_. The kiss was...impulsive, and ill thought out. And I should not have returned it.”

Fen’Falon felt like her heart would drop through her stomach. Was she pushing things? “Well, you did kiss me back - you could have ended the dream right there. Solas, look, if I’m pressuring you or something, or, or -”

“No, you are not pressuring me. If anything, I am pressuring myself,” said Solas. Fen’Falon knew Solas liked to be cryptic, but this really wasn’t the time for dancing with words. “It has been a long time, and things have ever been easier for me in the Fade. This may not be the best idea. It could lead to trouble.”

“The Dread Wolf can take that trouble and shove it, then. I’m willing to take the chance, Solas.” For a second there, Fen’Falon could have sworn that Solas looked startled, but the look vanished so quickly she wondered if she had hallucinated it. “Are you?”

“I…” Solas almost looked uncomfortable. “May be, yes. If I could take a little time to think. There are...considerations.” Fen’Falon wanted to attack his words - considerations? of what? She liked him, she could finally admit, and he seemed to like her back. What more was there to think about? Perhaps this is what Solas had meant by ‘impulsive’.

“By all means, Solas. Take whatever time you need,” Fen’Falon said gently. She considered that there was a lot she still did not know about him, perhaps he had to think about what to tell her and how. Or maybe his dislike for the Dalish still extended even to her, despite their otherwise friendly conversations.

“Thank you. It is not often that I am thrown off by things that happen in dreams. But I am reasonably certain we are awake now, if there are other things you wish to discuss.” Fen’Falon thought she could grow to really enjoy the wry tone in his voice. It added life to a normally stern and thoughtful face.

Fen’Falon moved forward in a flash and planted a kiss on Solas’s lips. “There. Now we know we are awake.” She grinned and left the rotunda to give Solas his opportunity to think. She hoped he would not overthink it and keep her waiting too long.

 

* * *

 

Last night’s dream - experience - _thing_ in the Fade would not leave her alone all day. It didn’t help that she was somehow stuck in planning meetings with the Inquisition advisors about their next step. They had soldiers who had been waylaid in the Fallow Mire by tribesmen whose leader wanted a duel with the Herald - with her. Fen’Falon wondered if it would be worth going there just to beat the shit out of this guy. Josephine was trying to get them an invitation to the Empress’s court so that they could stop Corypheus from having Celene assassinated, although given what Celene had done to the elves, Fen’Falon would not mind just letting it happen if it weren’t for the whole demon army thing.

Cullen wanted better equipment for his soldiers, and was looking into rumours about those blasted red templars. Leliana had spies everywhere doing Creators only knew what. Which left Fen’Falon, figurehead of the Inquisition and doing absolutely nothing that felt useful.

“I want to go to the Fallow Mire,” she said suddenly. The conversation stopped around her.

“You can’t be serious,” Cassandra said. “It is what that madman wants!”

“Yeah, well, while you all are doing important stuff here, at least let me be slightly more useful than a decorative vase, will you?”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “We can find things for you to do here, if that’s what you want.”

“No. And suddenly the urge to smash in heads and frost a few guys is growing larger with every minute you try to argue me out of this. I’m going.”

“Inquisitor…” Leliana cut in. “Our scouts report issues with walking corpses in the Mire.”

“And?”

The advisors all looked at each other and then back at Fen’Falon. Even if they said no, she would just gather a few of the others and go anyways - anything to get out of this stone prison.

“All right. But take some of the others with you - not your usual group - it would not do to lose the Inquisitor so early,” said Cullen.

“Fine. I was planning to anyways.” Fen’Falon turned on her heel and walked from the War Room to pack her things. The meeting had taken all afternoon, which meant she would have to put off leaving until the morning. Time enough to warn whoever she decided to take with her. It was tempting to grab Cassandra, Solas, and Varric, as she was accustomed to, but Cullen had seemed to imply that it would be better for the Inquisitor to be seen utilising everyone they had to offer. The question then became who to ask.

Fen’Falon was certain that Dorian would be interested, and his wit would be a welcome reprieve from the gloom of the Mire. She briefly considered Sera, but the woman’s dislike of everything elven would grate and spending another week with the blonde would drive Fen’Falon to murder. The strange kid that had joined right before the attack on Haven might be interested - he had some skill with blades and said the most interesting things.

A knock came at her room door and she went to answer it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm terrible for that cliffhanger. Suck it up, buttercups :P


	26. Cruel Thoughts

Solas was unused to these feelings. He wanted Fen’Falon, yes, but the nature of what he intended to do once he had his orb back made the choice difficult. “Considerations” he had told the mage. A rather large understatement of the complexity of the issue for him, but it was not as though he could just inform her of his true nature. Or of his end goals once Corypheus’s madness was stopped.

In a way, he thought, it was a convenient thing that Fen’Falon was tied up in meetings for the rest of the day. It gave him time to think, to fully explore the consequences of his actions. It would be foolish to get attached to this newly-forming elvhen woman. It would be foolish to get attached to one who wore slave markings with pride because her people had misremembered what they were.

Foolish to get involved with a woman who bore a mark of his power, a mark which was clearly affecting her, possibly in ways he did not know of. Never before had someone from outside the godly circles acquired access to their power, and his especially was more dangerous than most. He had no true gauge of what she had been like before being marked, however.

Solas paced the rotunda, paint and brushes forgotten as he tried to rationalise not getting involved. He knew he shouldn’t, but his heart was traitorous as ever - it told Solas to take the plunge, accept the risk, love for the first time since Arlathan. The impulse that had overcome him in the Fade the previous night was still there, and after their conversation that morning the wolfishness inside him could not bear the thought of Fen’Falon finding another.

He stalked out of the rotunda, through the main hall past Varric, and up the stairs to Fen’Falon’s rooms to knock on her door. Solas clasped his hands behind his back to keep from drumming them on the walls in anxiety. He felt like a boy again, wondering if Mythal had liked his latest joke.

The door opened.

Fen’Falon’s face went from curious and bright to guarded and unsure in the work of a moment when she saw him there. Her dark auburn hair was unbound, the short wavy curls flouncing around her face and the longer pieces tucked behind her ears. The mage’s eyes were green facing away from the sun like this, reminiscent of a cat’s eyes. Stars above she was beautiful like this.

Solas took a step forward and his hands came up to cup Fen’Falon’s jaw. A tug forwards and his lips met hers with a grin as she returned the kiss. His hands moved back along her head to rest one on the back of her neck, the other finding its way to hold her waist. Fen’Falon’s hands tugged his own waist forwards so that almost their entire bodies were in contact. They broke for air and she spoke.

“Why?”

“Because you are amazing,” Solas replied. “Because times are troubled and who knows if we will survive to see this to the end. And because even I deserve some selfishness.”

Fen’Falon visibly relaxed and grinned at him. “Good,” she said, and kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

Solas woke in the rotunda. It seemed even his dreams were determined to torment him, even as his heart did the same in the waking world. The fallen god pulled himself upright and rested his head on his hands, trying to wipe the dream from his mind.

At the very least he now knew what to paint on the walls of the rotunda to replace the ancient and faded fresco. The Inquisitor - or more precisely her story and victories. Solas spent the morning plotting out how large to make sections and what colours to use on a spare bit of parchment that was lying around. The first panel would represent his giving the orb to Corypheus, indirect as it had been. From there, perhaps the mages from Redcliffe and the events at Haven. Skyhold, of course, would need to feature as well.

“Hey Chuckles,” Varric said as he walked into the space. “You planning on eating today?”

“Your pardon?”

“There’s food out in the main hall. Come on, you’ve been in here all morning.”

Solas made a face - could Varric not leave people alone? Perhaps this was why his precious Hawke was off elsewhere.

“Chuckles, if you don’t eat the Inquisitor’s going to come back from the Mire real unhappy.” Solas had noticed the lack of curiosity-driven elven mages, but chalked it up to further meetings. Varric was perhaps the most observant of the Inquisitor’s additions to the cause, the hirsute dwarf seemed to catch everything that happened within the Inquisition. Interesting that he had noticed Lavellan’s growing fondness for Solas, though.

“Up and at ‘em, Chuckles. Even if it’s just bread - Daisy used to eat like a bird back in Kirkwall.”

“If that is what it takes to make you stop, Varric, then I will eat.” Solas stood from the out-of-balance table and followed Varric into the main hall. The four advisors were all there, talking together about the next steps for the Inquisition to take. Workmen on a break grouped together near the front doors, and it seemed Varric’s silver tongue had even pulled Fiona from the budding library for the afternoon meal. Sera was thankfully nowhere in sight, nor were Blackwall and the spirit who had joined them at Haven - Cole he had said his name was.

“You said the Inquisitor was in the Fallow Mire, Varric?” Solas asked.

“Yeah, she went out with the Kid, Buttercup, and Sparkler this morning. Something about missing soldiers and a challenge to duel.”

Solas acquired a plate and sat across from Varric. “I’m sorry? Who is with her, you said?”

Varric chuckled briefly. “Ah, right, not everyone gets the nicknames as fast as Hawke did. I meant Sera, Dorian and that new kid from Haven. Wicked fast with a blade he is, even for a human.”

“I see.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence between the two, and Solas was free to return to his painting. Fiona could be heard above in the library, arguing with one of the mages about a book that Dorian had apparently requested. Solas was half tempted to go up the stairs and inform both Fiona and the other mage that regardless of the book’s presence, the author had been a pretentious twit who had no conception of the true history of Barindur. Doing so would only bring questions though, questions better left unasked and unanswered until after he had completed his task.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apparently still in cruel-heartless-bitch mode and unapologetically so. I wrote the first half before I realised that it would make All New, Faded For Her's timing off, so ta-da, now it was just a dream. Whoops.
> 
> Minor edits made to correct inconsistencies with the next chapter.


	27. Letter from Lavellan

The Avvar who held the Inquisition soldiers hostage had been an interesting group. Almost interesting enough to help Fen’Falon forget the walking corpses that plagued the Mire. She shuddered briefly - if she never saw another undead again it would be too soon. The sole Avvar left living after the fight was one they had encountered a short ways out from the Inquisition camps, and then found again on the way out of the Avvar encampment. He was as large as a qunari, with a battleaxe larger than herself, and yet he still was willing to pledge himself to the Inquisition. It would be most interesting to see how that played out in the days and months to come.

What Fen’Falon wanted most as the group returned to Skyhold, though, was a bath. The Fallow Mire had seeped into seemingly every crevice of Fen’Falon, swamp mud caking her armour along with corpse ichor and demon blood.

“Dorian,” she said. “Please tell me you have something that can get this gods-cursed muck off?”

“Why ask me?” Dorian said.

“You always seem to have something, regardless of how strange it is.” Fen’Falon grinned at the other mage.

“Well, then, I may have something of use. I would be happy to assist you on our return,” said Dorian with a salacious wink.

Sera groaned. “Will th’ two of you just get a room already?” Fen’Falon thought the city elf almost sounded exasperated, which she would count as a bloody miracle - if flirting was what it took to get Sera to shut up for a few minutes, Fen’Falon would start with everything and anyone that wasn’t Sera.

Fen’Falon laughed. “Dorian, you charmer. I bet you say that to all the ladies!”

“Well, of course. How else would you come to learn that you are a beautiful person, oh Inquisitorialness?”

“Careful there, or I’ll have to start slinging muck to make up for the shine you’re trying to paint on me!”

Their banter carried them through the guard tower, across the bridge, and right into the lower courtyard. Scaffolding had gone up in Fen’Falon’s absence, indicating that repairs to the outer walls were well underway.

“Concern. Regret. He wants to help, wants help, but doesn’t know how,” the strange kid said. He had said his name was Cole, and that he was here to help them. Fen’Falon wasn’t quite sure what to make of him, but Cole was damn good with a pair of daggers and she wasn’t about to pass up the help.

“Cole? What was that?” The odd human just shook his head and popped away.

“You okay there, Fen? Looking a bit lost?” Dorian said.

“Yeah, I … I must’ve spaced out,” Fen’Falon replied. She couldn’t quite recall what she had been doing. Ah, right, a bath to wash the Fallow Mire out of her skin. Underground streams and snow melt fed water into the keep, and while it wasn’t the same as bathing in an open river, Fen’Falon supposed it was close enough.

Varric stopped Fen’Falon on her way back up to her rooms.

“I uh, I’ve been in contact with a friend of mine,” he began. “She’s been looking into the Grey Warden disappearance lately, and knows about Corypheus.”

Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow at him. “And? Who is ‘she’?”

“She has contacts in a lot of places, but she wants to meet you before she says anything about Corypheus. We ran into the crazy bastard years ago, could be useful intel.”

“Is there a reason you’re not mentioning her name, Varric?”

Varric looked mildly embarrassed. “The Seeker might kill me for bringing her here, Icy.”

Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes at Varric, then opened them in surprise as she made the connection. “You’re talking about the Champion! You mean Hawke!”

“Yup, that’s the one.”

“Well, shit, Varric, invite her to meet. I read your book and wow this is going to be so fascinating!”

“No need to get all fangirly on me, Icy, I get enough of those when I walk outside,” Varric said with a laugh.

“Oh, yes, no need to inflate your ego further, my friend. We wouldn’t want it to get too big for Skyhold to hold it, now would we?”

The unlikely pair laughed so loud that the workmen in the main hall stopped what they were doing to stare. The weight of so many eyes made Fen’Falon uncomfortable and she stopped laughing abruptly.

“I should probably go check in with the others. I’m sure they have things for their pretty figurehead to do to further the Inquisition’s needs,” she told Varric.

“Well, don’t hang around on my account, Icy. Work needs doing, sadly.” Varric returned to the table he had claimed with piles of paperwork, a task which Fen’Falon did not envy the dwarf at all.

Fen’Falon headed into the War Room, collecting Josephine on her way. The Inquisition Ambassador had been busy while she was gone - Josephine had managed to find a proper desk and chair, as well as bookshelves. Her office looked nicer than almost every other space in the keep save Fen’Falon’s room.

At the War Table Fen’Falon found herself wishing desperately for a chair, because at least then she would be bored and seated instead of bored with sore feet. She had been walking for weeks and standing like this when she didn’t need to be was killing her.

According to the advisors, as they preferred to be known, the move to Skyhold had increased the Inquisition’s reputation around the world. Information was coming in almost too quickly for Leliana to organise and check, Josephine was attempting to field nobles and ambassadors despite the state of disrepair in Skyhold, and Cullen had his hands full getting the soldiers trained, outfitted, and sent out to Inquisition camps to maintain order. Fen’Falon, as usual, felt useless. She had no contacts, no real skill at diplomacy, and being a mage made it hard to train anyone, really.

Fen’Falon was jolted out of her thoughts when she heard Cullen mention ‘Lavellan’.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, not you, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “We got a letter from your clan asking after you. Is there a particular way you would like us to handle it?”

“I presume you won’t allow me to meet with Keeper Deshanna in person?”

Leliana shook her head. “My spies indicate that the Free Marches is not safe for you at the moment, Inquisitor.”

Fen’Falon grimaced. “Fine. Let me write them back a letter, at least? You can send it with one of your spies or ambassadors.”

“My soldiers could deliver it, Inquisitor,” said Cullen.

“And get shot for their troubles, Commander. Or drive my clan off, or any number of other unfavourable outcomes. What is it with you shemlen and your need for a show of force, anyways?” Fen’Falon bit her tongue to keep from ranting - while her clan managed to deal with shemlen regularly without incident, Cullen’s idea of sending soldiers was sure to set at least the hunters off if they went.

Cullen raised both his hands defensively. “I get it, I get it. No soldiers.”

“Leliana, Josephine, what’s the preference for delivery?” Fen’Falon asked.

The two women looked at each other before Leliana spoke. “I’ll have one of my elven agents deliver your letter, Inquisitor. You can find me on the level above the library when you are ready.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. Was there anything you all needed me for, or am I just a table decoration here?” Fen’Falon could have dropped a pin in the silence that followed her question.

Josephine spoke first. “We received a letter from a gentleman hiding out in the Emerald Graves claiming to have information for the Inquisition. He refuses to share it unless we help him with a more local problem first. There’s also rumours of a Venatori presence in the Exalted Plains, and we’ve received reports of a rift opened beneath Crestwood Lake.”

“So, you want me to go to each of these and see what’s up? Don’t we have agents for this sort of thing?”

“We do,” Leliana said. “But it will be better for the Inquisition’s leader to be seen helping the people of the world.”

Fen’Falon snorted. “Got it. Be seen doing good. Oh what fun I’m having. Leliana, I’ll get you my letter to my clan soon - when I do, just let me know what you all want me to tackle first?”

“As you wish, Inquisitor.”

Maybe talking to Solas would help Fen’Falon pretend she wasn’t being used by the Inquisition - he always had a story to tell, or history to discuss.


	28. All New

Feeling much refreshed after a proper night’s sleep uninterrupted by corpses, Fen’Falon wandered into the rotunda. As expected, Solas was there, seated at a table he had placed in the middle of the room. Unexpected was the look on his face immediately after he sipped from what she could only guess was a cup of tea. Solas grimaced, shook his head, and then wiped a hand across his nose as if even the smell of it was offensive.

“Tea too strong, Solas?” Fen’Falon asked. She tried to hide the grin that threatened to split her face - the look he had worn was rather funny to her.

“It is tea. I detest the stuff,” Solas said.

“Then why drink it?”

“This morning, I needed to shake the dreams from my mind. I...may also need a favour.”

“You just need to name it, Solas,” said Fen’Falon. Even if he wasn’t sure about starting a relationship with her, Solas was still a friend - and Fen’Falon was nothing if not willing to help a friend in need.

Solas abruptly stood from his chair and began to pace. Unless Fen’Falon missed her guess, he seemed like he was still agitated by whatever he needed the favour for.

“One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages,” Solas said. “Forced into slavery. I heard the cry for help as I slept.” His hands emphasised his agitation as he spoke, more animated than Fen’Falon could recall him seeming.

“Don’t worry, Solas. We’ll rescue your friend. No matter what.” A thought occurred to Fen’Falon. “You heard her - his? - cry in the Fade?”

“It.”

“It? That’s a rude thing to call a friend, Solas.”

“My friend is a spirit of Wisdom,” he said. Solas looked as though he thought this would change Fen’Falon’s desire to help him. She wondered how many people had tried to lock the elven apostate away as a madman on hearing that he befriended spirits freely.

“Unlike the spirits who clamour to enter the waking world through the rifts,” he explained, “my friend was living quite happily in the Fade. It has been summoned against it’s will, imprisoned by mages, and has asked my help in gaining its freedom and returning to the Fade.”

“I thought all spirits wanted to find a way in,” Fen’Falon said. Solas looked pleased at her implied question, like he appreciated her curiosity.

“Some do, just as many peasants wish they were nobles, or they could travel to other places.” But not everyone wants to travel. My friend is an explorer in the Fade, seeking lost wisdom and reflecting it. It would happily discuss philosophy with you, but had no wish to come here physically.”

“So what would these mages even want with your friend? Even the rebel mages don’t want much to do with beings from the Fade for fear of abominations.”

“I do not. It knows a great deal of lore and history, but you could just as easily learn that by speaking to it in the Fade. It is...possible they seek information it does not wish to give, and would torture it to acquire that.”

“Well that’s not right. Any friend of yours, spirit or otherwise, deserves to be helped.”

Solas looked relieved. “Thank you,” he said. “I got a brief sense of my friend’s location before I awoke - I can show you on our map.”

“Thank _you_ , Solas. It’s nice to know that you are willing to come to me for help. You aren’t alone anymore, and more than just me would be happy to help you with your troubles.”

Solas almost looked startled, then turned away from Fen’Falon. “You should let the others know when we intend to leave, _lethallin_.”

“Is today too soon?”

“Who knows how long these mages will keep my friend. Sooner is better, I feel.”

“Then we’ll leave as soon as I can find others to join us, Solas. Meet in the lower courtyard after the afternoon meal, okay?”

“Understood, Inquisitor.”

“And don’t call me that!” Fen’Falon shouted over her shoulder as she left the room.

 

* * *

 

Finding Cole proved trickier than expected, given his tendency to make people forget that he had been around. After the Fallow Mire, though, Fen’Falon had a feeling that his strange comments were his intuitions on some level, which could be very useful. Fen’Falon finally found the odd human-shaped spirit back near the kitchens, crouched and feeding cheese to a stray cat that had come into Skyhold with the refugees.

“Hello Cole,” she said. The cat startled and ran off.

“You didn’t have to scare it,” Cole said, sounding hurt.

“I’m sorry, Cole. I’ll try to be more careful next time. As an apology, how’d you like to meet and save one of Solas’s friends?”

Cole turned his face up to look at Fen’Falon. “That sounds good. Helping people is good.”

“Yes, it is. Gather your things and meet in the lower courtyard after the noon meal, okay?”

Cole nodded and vanished on the spot, hopefully to get his things and not to chase after the cat.

Warden Blackwall was thankfully easier to find and speak with. They hadn’t talked much since he joined the Inquisition - Fen’Falon had a hard time seeing past his ridiculous facial hair and found it hard to read his expression with all that in the way.

“Blackwall?” she asked into the stables. The man in question came round from a stall.

“Is there something you needed, Inquisitor?”

“Yes, actually. Solas has a friend in trouble and I was hoping you might accompany us to the Exalted Plains.”

“A friend in trouble, you say? I could use a change of scenery.”

“So you’ll come?”

“Aye, I’ll join you. When do we leave?”

“After the noon meal, Blackwall. Meet in the lower courtyard by the gate and pack for the Plains.”

“Got it. I’ll be there,” said Blackwall. He walked past Fen’Falon and out towards the keep itself. She was glad that he had agreed to join herself, Solas, and Cole. With the Wardens still missing, Blackwall was probably feeling lonely, a sentiment she could empathise with. Sera didn’t count as an elf as far as Fen’Falon was concerned, and Solas was...well, Solas. His dislike of anything to do with the Dalish made it hard to see him as kin, even far-removed. And yet somehow, despite that, she cared for the strange elven mage.

Fen’Falon entertained a brief fantasy of finding Solas in her rooms when she went to pack her things, dismissing it only as she grabbed her pack and went down for the noon meal. It had involved Solas being in her room as she got there, him crossing the room to pin her against the wall in a passionate kiss. One hand on the back of her neck, the other holding her in place, nothing but their clothing and his bone necklace between their bodies, the heat tangible even through that. They would break for air and his fingers would caress an ear, and...Fen’Falon shook her head. Such thoughts would be unkind if Solas decided against pursuing her. It would be best to put them out of her head until after they had rescued his friend.

 


	29. Faded

The Exalted Plains looked a right mess. The ground had clearly endured a fire recently, and the trees were stripped bare of anything green and growing near the Inquisition’s camp. Solas went off a ways to try and get bearings on his friend and Fen’Falon took the opportunity to have a little chat with Blackwall and Cole.

“Okay you two. This is for Solas, and his friend. Which means your jobs here are as backup in case we are attacked, and to otherwise not say a bloody word about his friend, got it?” Fen’Falon looked each of the others straight in the eyes as she waited for their responses.

“Understood, Inquisitor,” said Blackwall.

“Everything here is blurry. It wants to forget, but now the rocks are solid,” Cole said.

Fen’Falon wasn’t quite sure that was a response, but she took it as one. “Thank you both.”

When Solas rejoined the group he looked more unhappy. “That way,” he said, pointing farther into the region. Fen’Falon thought she could see a few of those shambling corpses in that direction and grimaced at the thought of fighting the wretched things.

“Anything more specific than that, Solas?” Fen’Falon asked.

“I believe it is being held near a river. There should be a path up to the left that will take us away from the fighting and towards my friend.”

“Alright. Solas, let’s do this like Skyhold. I’ll take point and you’ll guide. Blackwall, Cole, keep your eyes open for trouble and shout when you see it.”

Solas nodded.

“Understood,” Blackwall said.

“I will,” said Cole. The boy looked around as if he was hearing things the others could not, and Fen’Falon wondered how far his reach was.

The foursome left camp slowly, carefully moving as Solas directed and did their best to stay away from the walking dead. Their best wasn’t enough when a pair of Terrors spotted them and fade-stepped to the attack. Roughly ten minutes of furious battle followed - both mages flung spells to keep the Terrors grounded so that Cole and Blackwall could end them, and the three corpses that joined in were quickly incinerated by Fen’Falon.

It was late afternoon when they stumbled across a Dalish camp, hidden in the grassy forest lands away from the battlefields. Fen’Falon’s face lit up with delight at the sight of halla and aravels, and the statue of Fen’Harel that they had facing the stream in front of the camp. The clan’s Keeper was standing near the aravels as if watching for trouble. Fen’Falon thought it smart, given what was going on less than a day’s walk away. It would be all too easy for the shem fighting to spread and overtake these Dalish.

Fen’Falon turned to the others. “No one but me speaks here, okay? Especially you, Solas. We don’t need to piss this clan off, and camping with them for the night would be safer than making our own.” She didn’t wait for responses this time, instead walking forward to speak with the Keeper.

“ _Aneth_ _ara_ , Keeper,” Fen’Falon said, bowing slightly.

“ _Andaran_ _atish’an_ , stranger. From what clan do you hail?”

“Clan Lavellan, _hahren_. I am Fen’Falon, First to Keeper Istimithaethorial Deshanna, currently on loan as the Inquisition’s Inquisitor.”

“I am Keeper Hawen, _da’len_. It is good to see another of the Dalish in these dark times.”

“Not as good as it is to see a clan whole and hale, Keeper.”

“You mentioned the Inquisition - I have been hearing of this group and its reach. My First went to the Emerald Graves to investigate an ancient ruin, but I have not heard back from him in some time. Perhaps you could look into it for me?”

Fen’Falon kept her face carefully neutral - she hated being an errand girl like some city elf servant. “I would be honoured to assist, _hahren_.”

Solas made a noise behind her and she flapped a hand at him.

“ _Hahren_ , if I may ask a favour…?”

The Keeper looked suspicious of her. “You may be _lethallan_ , Inquisitor, but times are dire. What is your favour?”

“Could you possibly allow me and my companions to camp within for the night? We will be on our way in the morning. I will vouch for my companions and their behaviour while we are with your clan, if you are okay with it.”

Keeper Hawen was silent for a moment before he answered. “You may sleep next to this aravel, _da’len_. Your _shemlen_ and flat-ear are not to touch anything nor speak to anyone.”

“ _Ma serannas_ , Keeper. Your terms are fair.”

 

* * *

 

They found the body of a mage less than an hour’s walk from the Dalish camp.

“One of the mages,” Solas said. “Killed by arrows, it would seem.” Fen’Falon wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or if Solas actually sounded a bit disappointed to discover that.

“Likely bandits,” said Blackwall.

“Does it matter? It means we’re getting close,” Fen’Falon told them. She led the way forward down the trail. They weren’t walking for more than five minutes before a sight reminiscent of the Temple of Sacred Ashes greeted them. Three bodies, seemingly flayed and burned beyond all recognition. Their limbs were twisted in pain, and two of them seemed to have been trying to crawl away from whatever had attacked them.

“These aren’t mages. The bodies are burned, and these claw marks…” Solas crouched to look closer. Fen’Falon watched as Solas’s face saddened - the claw marks meant something.

“No. No no no…” said Solas desperately. Whatever had happened to these people, it clearly had something to do with Solas’s friend.

Fen’Falon tugged Solas to his feet. “Come on, Solas. We have to get to your friend if we’re going to help.”

Solas nodded and pointed out a direction for Fen’Falon to lead them in. It was maybe a further ten minutes when Fen’Falon saw strange stone pillars surrounding a very large pride demon near a river. It didn’t seem to be aggressive, it was just standing there in the middle. Further inspection showed the pillars to be the anchor points for a containment field - but what would happen if the anchors were destroyed? Fen’Falon hoped Solas could tell them.

“My friend,” Solas said sadly. He was looking at the pride demon. Solas took a step backwards, a hand raised as if to comfort the demon.

If that was Solas’s friend, then…”They corrupted it,” Fen’Falon said. “They somehow warped it from your friendly spirit into...that.”

“Yes.” His voice was short, and beginning to sound angry.

“You said it was a spirit of wisdom, uninterested in fighting.”

Solas’s head was bowed and Fen’Falon wondered what he was thinking. “A spirit becomes a demon when it is denied its original purpose,” he said.

The two mages turned to look at the demon as it growled. “So after they summoned it, they bound it to do something so against its nature that it was twisted? For fighting, I assume?” Fen’Falon asked.

Solas looked about to reply when a human mage approached them. He was clearly a Circle mage, the evidence of years of decent food and good living showing in his face and the pudginess of his robes. He walked slowly, as though unsure of their intentions, or perhaps because he was injured.

“Let us ask them,” Solas said. The edge in his voice could have cut rock, Fen’Falon thought. The Circle mage was close enough to be heard.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to split this chapter because it reached double length, apologies for the unintended cliffhanger.


	30. For Her

“A mage!” the human cried with joy. “You’re not with the bandits? You wouldn’t have any lyrium would you? We’re all exhausted, we’ve been fighting that demon…”

“You _summoned_ that demon,” Solas interrupted. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time. You forced it to kill. You twisted it against its purpose!”

The human mage looked out of sorts, flustered. Fen’Falon didn’t think the human had expected a pair of elven mages to attack him for this.

“I - I - I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons,” the human stuttered, condescension lacing his tone. Fen’Falon’s hands made fists at her sides to keep from attacking the mage - this was Solas’s friend, and Solas’s fight. “But after you help us, I can--”

Solas tugged his hand wraps tighter. “We are not here to help _you_ ,” he spat. Fen’Falon decided she would give this idiot mage a chance to run off before she and Solas ended him.

“Here’s a quick bit of friendly advice, _shem_. My friend has more knowledge in his little finger than you’ve collected in your pathetic life, so I’d hold off on attempting to explain how demons work to him.”

The human made a negating gesture. “Listen! I was one of the foremost _experts_ on demons in the Kirkwall Circle--”

“Shut. Up.” Solas sounded angry - really angry. Fen’Falon had not realised his stoic face hid such depths of emotion. “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.”

“I -- well, yes,” the human said. He seemed confused about where this conversation would inevitably end.

“You bound it to obedience, and then commanded it to _kill_. That is when it changed.”

Solas turned to face Fen’Falon, agitated and gesturing more than usual. “The summoning circle,” he said. “We break it, we can break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

Fen’Falon could see the sense in that, and given Solas’s extensive experience with the Fade, she was willing to trust him that his plan would work. The human mage spoke again.

“What?!” the human cried. “The binding is the only thing keeping it from killing all of us! Whatever it was before, it is a monster now!”

Solas looked at Fen’Falon. “Inquisitor, please.”

“Of course, Solas. I should be able to destroy the binding quickly and save your friend.”

“Thank you,” Solas said. A great roar split the air and the human mage ran the way the group had come. “We must hurry!”

“Then we’ll hurry!” Fen’Falon replied. She ran for the nearest stone pillar and began throwing any and all magic at it. Solas helped her, and Blackwall and Cole distracted the pride demon to keep it from attacking the mages. Between the two elves, they made short work of the binding stones and soon the demon was freed.

A great flash of fade-light covered the pride demon and when it cleared there was only a vaguely human-shaped spirit in its place. The spirit had taken the form of a human circle mage, if the clothing was anything to go by, its hair and skin the colour of soot. The spirit fell to the ground, landing such that it was sitting on its knees, a look of extreme sadness on its face. Solas approached and crouched down so he was at eye level. Fen’Falon stood nearby, but far enough that she felt they had some privacy.

“ _Ir_ _abelas_ ,” Solas said.

The spirit looked up at him, its eyes glowing green. “I’m not,” it said in the ancient elven language. Fen’Falon strained to translate the words she didn’t know, trying to make sense of their conversation.

“I’m happy,” the spirit continued. “I’m me again. You helped me. Now you must endure. Guide me into death.”

Solas turned his head and closed his eyes in pain. “Ma nuvenin,” Solas said to it. Fen’Falon watched as he gathered energy and moved his hands in an unfamiliar pattern. The spirit began to smoke, then gradually faded into nothingness.

“ _Dareth_ _shiral_ ,” Solas said when it was gone.

Fen’Falon came up to him and placed a hand on Solas’s shoulder. “It was right, you know. I heard what it said - you did help it.”

“Now...I must endure,” Solas repeated the spirit’s words.

“Please, if there’s anything I can do to help,” Fen’Falon said. Solas stood and turned to look at her. He looked so sad, so pained by what had just happened.

“You already have,” Solas said. He inclined his head at Fen’Falon, a gesture of unspoken thanks. A sound from upriver drew both their attentions. “Now all that remains is _them_.”

The mages who had done this approached them, including the one from earlier. The idiot human was going to try and speak with Solas even after all that the human had caused? Fen’Falon did not envy these mages in the slightest.

“Thank you,” the human said. “We would not normally have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected.”

At the humans words a look of fury transformed Solas’s face. He unslung his staff and advanced on the _shemlen_ mages, who backed away from him in deservéd fear.

“You tortured and killed my friend,” Solas said. Venom laced every word he spoke, and Fen’Falon found herself wishing that she would never see him angry again.

“We didn’t know!” the dumb _shem_ retorted. “The book said it could help us!” All three of the human mages had backed themselves against an uphill, and one stumbled to the ground as it rose unexpectedly underneath him. Fen’Falon made no move to help them. A fireball brighter and hotter than she had ever seen a mage cast enveloped the three humans, incinerating them before they could even scream. Solas had that kind of power - and kept it hidden? Why? Fen’Falon found herself wondering just who Solas was, what his history was, and why he was holding back even when they fought powerful enemies. With that kind of power, she thought he could give even Corypheus a run for his money. Something was strange here; Solas was hiding something big.

“Damn them all,” Solas said as he stood among the remains. “I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold.”

Solas walked away and didn’t look back, leaving Fen’Falon, Blackwall, and Cole to find their way back to the Inquisition camp for horses.

“Not. One. Word.” Fen’Falon turned to Blackwall.

“Pain on his face makes pain inside. A kiss might ease the pain, but she’s unsure if that’s what he wants. So many questions, and the one she wants answered most can’t be asked,” said Cole. Fen’Falon realised he was reading her somehow.

“Cole, please stop.”

“But I want to help.”

“I know, kiddo, but I’d like my thoughts to stay in my head, okay?”

“Would it be rude of me to ask what that was about?” Blackwall asked.

“Yes,” Fen’Falon said shortly. “Private thoughts are meant to stay private.”

Blackwall looked like he was about to speak again and Fen’Falon shushed him with a gesture and a “bzt” sound.

“Let’s just get back to the camp and head back to Skyhold. We can come back with others to help with the undead problem here, but with only three of us I don’t want to risk it.”

 


	31. Better Than Cake

For two days Fen’Falon sat on the steps facing the gate in the lower courtyard, watching for Solas’s return. He’d said he would come back - a fact that she repeated to herself frequently, even as the second day drew to a close.

“Solas, where _are_ you?” she said softly to herself. As if summoned by her words, a figure appeared at the far end of the bridge to the guard tower. Solas. He had somehow acquired a wolf pelt while he was gone, draping it over the shoulders of his armoured robes. It made him look more feral, more like an apostate, and Fen’Falon definitely approved of the look. It worked well to highlight the blackened wolf jaw bone he wore as a talisman. She shook the thoughts that followed from her head as she stood and walked out to meet Solas.

They met a short ways from the bottom of the stairs. “You’re back?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Inquisitor,” Solas said.

“I keep telling you not to call me that, Solas,” she said with a laugh. “I’m so glad you’re back. How are you doing?”

The pain she had seen in him on the Plains was harder to spot, but it remained - to lose a close friend like that would no doubt hurt for years to come.

“It hurts,” said Solas. “It always does. But I will survive.” Fen’Falon wondered how many friends - spirit and otherwise - Solas had seen killed or worse.

“Thank you for coming back,” Fen’Falon told him. She took a step forward to indicate her concern for him. When Solas didn’t immediately back away from her, she smiled shyly. Perhaps there was yet hope that he would remember how amazing that kiss in the Fade had felt.

“It is I who should be thanking you, _lethallin_. You did everything you could to help. You were a true friend. I could hardly abandon you now.”

“Where did you go, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I found a quiet space in the forest and went to sleep. I visited the place in the Fade where my friend was often found. It is empty now, but there are stirrings of energy in the Void. Someday, something new may grow there.” Despite the words, Fen’Falon thought Solas still sounded sad and wanted nothing more than to hug him.

“How exactly can a spirit die, anyways?” she asked. Her brain caught up to her mouth and a look of chagrin crossed her face. “Sorry, that probably sounded insensitive, Solas. _Ir_ _abelas_.”

“ _Ma_ _serannas_. To answer your question - it is different from the way it is for mortals. The energy of spirits returns to the Fade. It is possible for the spirit to rise again, if the energy giving it form is strong enough, or if the memory has formed other spirits.”

“So your friend might come back one day?”

“It would not be the same friend. Its personality, even its purpose could be different. It would not remember me. It would not be the friend I knew.”

“I...I want you to know that I’m here for you Solas, no matter what. The next time you need mourn, it does not have to be alone.”

Fen’Falon wondered if she’d said the wrong thing when Solas looked depressed again. “It has been so long since I could trust someone, _lethallin_ ,” he said.

“I know,” Fen’Falon replied. “Regardless…”

“I’ll work on it,” said Solas. “And thank you.” The two elves walked into the keep in silence, and Fen’Falon entertained thoughts of what would happen if she were to hold his hand. Varric would claim that he knew something about it all along, and then threaten to write it into a book. Hopefully no one else would catch sight or sound of them, but Fen’Falon knew that gossip scuttled around Skyhold quicker than a rabbit.

She split off from Solas as he went for his rooms - she needed to report back to the advisors regarding the corpse issue at the Exalted Plains. Fen’Falon also wanted to ask Leliana to send a few agents out to investigate Keeper Hawen’s First in the Emerald Graves. Perhaps they could turn up at least a little piece of news for the Keeper.

 

* * *

 

Nearly a week since they had tried to help Solas’s friend on the Plains, slightly less than than since Solas returned to Skyhold. Fen’Falon decided it was time to check up on her elven friend.

“Hello, Solas,” she said as she walked into the rotunda. He was painting again, bright yellows and oranges taking shape low on the walls.

“Inquisitor,” Solas said. He stopped himself as Fen’Falon made a face. “I...do you have a moment to spare? Privately?”

Fen’Falon nodded. “We can use my rooms, no one is ever nearby.”

She led Solas out through the main hall and up the tower to the rooms she had been given. Pieces of Dalish lore and history littered her room: a halla statue here, a carved Fen’Harel near a balcony door in mimicry of the statues used by Dalish clans, a banner with her clan heraldry woven into it.

They walked past the Fen’Harel statue onto her balcony, overlooking the river that ran underneath Skyhold. The late afternoon light was thin, just barely giving a golden tint to the balcony stones and the windows behind the two elves.

Solas turned to face Fen’Falon. “What were you like, before the Anchor?” he asked. Fen’Falon looked at the mark on her palm and opened her mouth to answer, but Solas continued speaking. “Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your...spirit?”

Fen’Falon found it interesting that he did not mention physical changes - perhaps those, at least, she would have noticed, beyond the obvious marking of her hand. She thought for a moment, her head tilted quizzically. She didn’t think there were changes, but if someone as well-read as Solas was asking, perhaps he expected some?

“I don’t think so,” Fen’Falon said. “But then again, would I have noticed if it had? Who’s to say it couldn’t, I don’t know, rewrite my mind so that I didn’t think to ask?”

“A rational conclusion.”

“Why do you ask, Solas?”

Solas looked out at the mountains before answering, and Fen’Falon found herself admiring the lines of his face in profile. Odd, she thought, how she never noticed the way his brows made his eyes look sadder.

“You show a wisdom I have not seen since--” Solas cut himself off and Fen’Falon wondered if she would get the chance to ask him what he had meant to say before he continued “Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You...are not what I expected.”

Fen’Falon had a feeling that he had expected her to behave like most of the Dalish - contemptuous of non-Dalish elves, outright hatred of _shemlen_ , a refusal to change their views because the stories they were told said certain things. Keeper Deshanna had always said that Fen’Falon’s curiosity would be the death of both of them: Fen’Falon’s from digging into histories and secrets she shouldn’t, and Deshanna from the heart-attack Fen’Falon’s digging was sure to give her.

“And what did you expect?” Fen’Falon asked him.

“Someone else, it would seem.”

“So...what exactly have I done that you find so surprising?”

“You have show subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours...have I misjudged them?”

Fen’Falon almost laughed. As much as she loved her people, their inability to ask questions frequently bothered her, and she often found herself agreeing with Solas when he made negative comments about the Dalish. She would always feel a connection with her people and their stories, but a part of her felt like she had never truly belonged anyways.

She shook her head. “My own choices and actions brought me here, Solas, made me the way I am. My clan had little to nothing to do with it.”

“You are wise to give yourself that due,” Solas told her. He looked appreciative, a look that Fen’Falon could definitely want to see more frequently. “Although the Dalish, in their own fashion, may still have guided you. Perhaps that is it. I suppose it must be. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you.”

Fen’Falon smiled at the taller elf. “I make an effort,” she said with a laugh. “So, what does this mean, Solas? Where are you going with this?”

“It means I have not forgotten the kiss,” said Solas. Fen’Falon almost said a prayer of thanks out loud to the Creators right there. She had not forgotten either - how could she, when every time she saw the elf her mind wandered to the feel of his lips on hers, the way his hands held her close, and wondered what it would be like to have more.

Fen’Falon stepped forwards, inside what she usually thought of as Solas’s personal space. “Good,” she said. “I haven’t either.”

The Dalish mage moved close to Solas so that their bodies were nearly touching, her face tilted to look up at his, her hands clasped behind her back in imitation of Solas. He looked at her like she was the most amazing thing, like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. Solas gave a slight shake of his head and stepped away from Fen’Falon.

Had she misread him? Fen’Falon used her marked hand to hold Solas’s arm. “Don’t go,” she said. Please, Creators, don’t go, not after saying something like that. It seemed so _obvious_ to her that he cared, that he was trying not to for some reason.

Solas stopped moving. “It would be kinder in the long run,” he said. Fen’Falon wondered: kinder to whom? It certainly didn’t feel kinder to her. Solas turned swiftly, their bodies almost close enough to touch. “But losing you would…”

He finished his words with a kiss that took Fen’Falon’s breath away. Solas’s hands grasped just above her hips and tugged her closer as he deepened the kiss. Fen’Falon moved her own hands to his shoulder blades, pulling herself into him, kissing Solas back fervently. Their bodies moved together until Fen’Falon was against the balcony railing, the force of the kiss causing her back to arch over it. He nipped at her lower lip and she returned the favour threefold, eliciting a soft noise of _need_ from Solas. They stopped for want of air and Solas briefly rubbed his nose against hers. He took a half-step back, and the look in his eyes gave Fen’Falon all the answer she had ever needed about whether or not the pair could become an item.

“ _Ar lath ma_ , _vhenan_ ,” Solas told her in the ancient tongue. The words were sweeter than any cake or candy. Solas turned from her and walked into her bedroom - watching him walk away from her had never been more satisfying. Fen’Falon brought her fingers to her tingling lips as she leaned against the balcony doorway. She would have to keep herself alert to find more stolen moments like this one.

 


	32. Fade Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My muse has apparently decided that she liked the vacation she took over the weekend and has been refusing to cooperate. I'm about 5 chapters behind now, going by my intended daily update schedule, and I'll try to get that caught back up soon so that I can feel less terribly about leaving y'all chapterless for five days.

“You okay there, Icy? You’re looking a little out of it these days,” Varric asked. Fen’Falon started, jumping a little from her seat in the tavern.

“Me? Yeah, yeah - I’m fine, Varric, I promise,” she said. It had only been a week since Solas admitted to returning her feelings, a week of stolen kisses in the hallways and along the road. Fen’Falon was finding it harder and harder to think of things that weren’t the enigmatic elven apostate, and it seemed her other friends were finally noticing.

“Its your turn to play, Icy,” Varric said. Fen’Falon did not think she would get the hang of Wicked Grace anytime soon - the game seemed unnecessarily complicated. Solas refused to play with them anytime he was asked, and Vivienne considered it beneath her, which left Varric, the Bull, Dorian, Josephine, Cullen, Cassandra and sometimes Blackwall to join in.

As usual, Fen’Falon was losing. She played her turn without thinking, once again distracted by the thought of learning to play from Solas. She was sure that he knew how and was simply choosing not to, and her imagination spun tales of his thin fingers grasping hers as he explained card mechanics or they reached for the draw at the same time.

“Varric,” Fen’Falon said. “Any word from your friend?”

“I meant to tell you earlier,” he replied. “She’ll be here...tomorrow, if I didn’t misread her letter. I’ll let you know when she’s arrived, Inquisitor.”

Varric played his turn, followed by Josephine. The resulting card combinations looked to Fen’Falon an awful lot like continuing to play would hurt.

“I’m out,” she said, putting the cards in her hand down.

“Aw, come on, Icy, don’t give up!”

“Varric, I’m losing. I’m always losing this game. Let me bow out with dignity instead of after a few drinks and without my knickers.”

Varric chuckled. “Fair point, Icy.” Fen’Falon stood from the table and left the tavern to look for Solas.

Solas was in his rotunda again, adding to the mural. It now reached nearly a quarter of the way around, depicting the events leading to Skyhold and their occupation of the ancient fortress.

“Wolves, Solas?” Fen’Falon asked when she noticed the four beasts painted into the very first panel. Two white wolves sat in the foreground, howling at the sky such that they looked like the statues the Dalish carved to protect their camps. Just behind the white wolves were black ones in the same position.

“Pardon?” Solas said.

“The wolves, in the first section. Can I ask why they are there?”

“You can.”

Fen’Falon shook her head and hugged Solas, tilting her face up to look into his. Strong arms reached around to hold her close.

“But you won’t give me a straight answer will you?” Fen’Falon smiled ruefully. Solas started to reply but was stopped when Fen’Falon kissed him instead. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself onto her toes, enjoying the feeling of kissing him like this.

“I had thought you were playing Wicked Grace with Varric, _ma_ _vhenan_.”

“I lost.” Solas quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, fine, I didn’t _lose_. I was losing and decided that you were better company.”

Solas planted a second kiss on Fen’Falon’s lips. “I usually am, my heart.”

“Can we wander the Fade again?” Lately Solas had been Fadewalking with Fen’Falon, showing her the power of a Dreamer and the wonderful things that could be found by those who looked. Two days ago Fen’Falon had watched a pitched battle between a small group of adventurers and a high dragon, in a valley near Haven. She had wanted to get closer, sure she had seen Leliana in the group, but Solas had held her fast and refused, saying even in the Fade they could be harmed by the dragon-spirit.

“As you wish,” said Solas. He took Fen’Falon’s hand and led her over to the chaise that had been set up against a blank wall. Solas sat first, arranging himself comfortably, and Fen’Falon settled herself with her back to his chest, nestled into his body. Solas rested his arms around Fen’Falon’s waist with his chin against the top of her head. Comfortable and warm, Fen’Falon closed her eyes and waited for Solas’s magical sleep to claim her.

* * *

 

The village was quiet today, bare-faced elven children running and playing in the streets. Market Day had been last week to celebrate Sylaise’s bounty. Tisharla had been excited when the boy across the village spoke with her at the evening dance - Ilthariel was the catch of the village. His hair was pale blonde and braided back from his face. He had a face worthy of the gods, she often thought, no disrespect to the gods themselves.

Tisharla wandered into the forest outside the village looking for herbs for her mother. Elfroot for tea, mint for the palate, basil and rosemary for their supper. The young woman was busy carefully placing the herbs in her pouch when the sound of a twig snapping came from behind her.

The young-looking man in front of her was well-dressed, better than even the Elder’s family would have been able to afford - he must be a nobleman. His dark hair was shaved at the sides and gathered into chunky locks starting from his scalp through to the ends. Deep set eyes and an aristocratic nose confirmed Tishala’s hunch.

“Oh! I- I’m so sorry, sir! I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m...I’m sure you have things to be doing and I’ll just be going on my way now,” Tishala stammered out. She backed away carefully - offending this nobleman could have grave consequences.

“Do not be scared, little one. I mean you no harm. I simply take pleasure in watching the free go about their days, oblivious to the games of power played in Arlathan.” The strange man held out a hand as if to stop the peasant elf from running, to no avail. Tishala ran for the safety of her mother’s home, unwilling to risk angering the strange man with the powerful aura.

Fen’Falon felt herself being pulled on, out and away from the odd little memory. Solas’s hand was on her shoulder, gently tugging her into his embrace.

“Careful, _ma_ _vhenan_. Greater mages that you have been known to become trapped by the spirits here,” he said.

“But that’s what I have you for, Solas,” Fen’Falon told him.

“It is still possible, Fen’Falon. And it may be difficult for me to assist you. I can control only so much when I am here in the Fade, although it is easier.”

“I believe the advisors are looking for you, _vhenan_. Come, I will wake you for them.”

“But I--”

 

* * *

 

Fen’Falon woke still snuggled into Solas’s warm embrace. He was still in the Fade, if his sleeping form was anything to go by. Overcome by a sudden and silly idea, Fen’Falon grabbed one of Solas’s brushes and a tin of paint. With careful brush strokes she gave Solas hair like the nobleman from the Fade, intrigued by how alike the two elves were even though the Fade elf was likely long dead. A giggle escaped her at the thought of Solas’s face when he saw what had been done.

Solas stirred and quick as lightning Fen’Falon returned the brush and paint to their places and escaped from the room. She nearly ran into Commander Cullen, her elven reflexes the only thing that kept them from a messy tangled pile on the stone floor. The two regained their dignity and walked into the War Room together for the latest news.

 


	33. Crestwood

“I have a contact in the Wardens who’s been investigating this with me,” Hawke said. Fen’Falon was standing with the odd woman on Skyhold’s battlements, Varric hovering nearby. “We’re supposed to meet in Crestwood early next week - you should come along and hear the news from him yourself.”

“Alright,” said Fen’Falon. “I’ll get the advisors to send scouts and whatnot up there so we know what we’re walking into. Is there a reason you’re not naming your contact? We are safe here, you know.”

“He’s used to his privacy. And the other Wardens have been convinced that he’s a traitor to the order, which is the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve been fed in...oh, four years or so.”

Varric let out a brief laugh before smothering it. “Blondie always did tell the best stories, Hawke.”

“Varric…” Hawke said threateningly.

“Don’t worry Hawke. Not even the Seeker knows about that one.”

Fen’Falon looked between the two in confusion. “I’m not sure I want to know,” she said.

“You really don’t,” Varric told her. “Come on, let’s go tell the others so we can move on this, Icy.”

The elf and the dwarf found their way down the newly repaired stairs to the courtyard, leaving Hawke alone on the tower with her thoughts.

 

* * *

 

The road to reach Crestwood was only slightly longer than the trip to Redcliffe, giving Fen’Falon plenty of time to wonder about the prank she had pulled on Solas. In the intervening days, he hadn’t said a word about it, given away no sign that he had even noticed beyond the disappearance of the paint from the top of his head.

Fen’Falon found herself wishing that Solas hadn’t convinced her to try and hide their budding relationship from the Inquisition, but his reasoning had made sense. She was theoretically the leader, and was also seen as a religious figure by the Inquisition’s lower ranks, all of which meant that if she was seen with an apostate elf - despite being one herself - there would be uproar. So their kisses were stolen moments, and Fadewalking on the road was nowhere near as comfortable as it was in Skyhold.

So far they managed it thanks only to Solas, who would wake her when he was on watch and the others asleep. Solas would steal into Fen’Falon’s tent and wake her with a gentle shake and a whispered “ _vhenan_ ”. Together they would walk a little ways out from the campfire - far enough to be difficult to see, but not so far that they could not sound the alarm in time.

A tug on her hand had Fen’Falon spinning around until Solas was directly facing her. Behind her was a tree, which she noticed when Solas advanced on her and she backed into it. The bark was rough against her under-armour, but the feeling was forgotten when Solas touched his nose to hers.

“The things you do to me, _vhenan_ ,” he said. Fen’Falon tilted her head to capture his lips in a kiss only to be denied when Solas pulled back.

“Heyyy,” Fen’Falon whined. Solas smirked at her.

“Did you think you had gotten away with your trick, _da’harellan_?” Little Trickster, he called her. Solas stepped forward until their bodies were almost touching.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find a way to retaliate, _ma_ _vhenan_?” his breath whispered across her cheek. Fen’Falon brought her hands up to tug Solas into her for a kiss, only for her wrists to be captured by his hands. Solas gripped her tight and pulled her hands against the tree’s trunk, effectively pinning her to it. The kiss was like fire and warm mead scorching across her lips. His tongue slid between her lips and explored Fen’Falon’s mouth and she returned the favour with her own. Fen’Falon was left breathless when Solas finally broke the kiss, barely able to form coherent thought.

“ _Vhenan_ , one day your mischievous spirit will get you into trouble,” said Solas.

Fen’Falon shook her head. “Shan’t,” she said. Solas kissed her again.

“It will, _da’harellan_ , and I may not be there to save you from your silliness.”

Fen’Falon found her words again. “Lies and slander, Solas. I know you wouldn’t leave me if you had a choice.” Or so she hoped. It had only been a single week and some change since their kiss on the balcony, but Fen’Falon had a gut feeling that Solas cared deeply for her, especially in light of their shared experiences fighting against Corypheus’s plots.

Fen’Falon twisted herself around and freed her wrists to tug Solas back towards the camp. “It’s almost time for the next watch,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to give the game away, would we?”

“No we would not, _vhenan_. Thought I believe our companions are aware enough of those around them and will figure this out for themselves soon enough.”

“So?”

Solas made a noise of exasperation - this was a conversation they had already had many times over the past week.

“I don’t care what these _shemlen_ think, Solas,” Fen’Falon said. “Not of us at least.” Solas ran a hand down Fen’Falon’s back as they re-entered the camp area.

“You may yet be the death of me, _ma harellan_.” Solas’s mouth quirked into a tiny smile before he spun Fen’Falon to face him and kissed her again. “It is time for me to wake Dorian for the watch, my heart. Good night, and I will see if I can find you in the Fade again.”

Fen’Falon grinned. “Goodnight, Solas.”

 

* * *

 

Crestwood was dismal. Damp, dismal, dark, decrepit...Fen’Falon was amusing herself by thinking of words that could describe the place that only started with the letter D. Rain clouds hung low over the area, threatening to burst with silent menace. The roads were deserted, an odd contrast to the Hinterlands around Redcliffe.

Well, mostly deserted. The sounds of fighting rang from ahead and Fen’Falon broke into a run, trusting that her companions would follow. The group arrived just as the last undead was cut down by a man in deep blue and mirror-silver armour. His left shoulder guard was stylised to look like a gryphon, his hair cut short to the head. Two dirks rested in scabbards at his hips, their hilts matching his armour. The man’s companion wiped his blade on his breeches and turned to face the newcomers.

“Ho there!” the first man cried.

“Hello,” said Fen’Falon. “Do you know the way to Crestwood Village? You are the first people we have seen in this dank place.”

“If you follow this path,” the man pointed down a smaller road that seemed to head north, “you’ll reach the village. By any chance, have you seen a Grey Warden by the name of Stroud? He has black hair with a matching moustache, and a thick Orlesian accent.”

“As I said, you are the first we’ve seen today. But why would Grey Wardens be looking for one of their own?”

“He is wanted for questioning for betraying the Order. If you see him, please inform us at once. We are camped nearby and will be leaving after we have finished searching the area.”

The second Warden snorted. “Do you honestly think he’d be hiding in some backwater like Crestwood, Philippe?”

Philippe - the Warden Fen’Falon had been speaking with - looked at his companion. “The Commander said search, so here’s where we’ll search. Quit your whining. We have more ground yet to cover today.”

“I’ll just let you boys carry on then.” Fen’Falon inclined her head at the two Wardens. “Thank you for the directions, Wardens.”

A quick hand motion had the Inquisitor’s group moving down the road to Crestwood Village and away from the two Wardens.

“They must be looking for Hawke’s friend,” Varric said when they were far enough away.

“That’s my thinking too, Varric. We need to meet Hawke first, as soon as possible.”

“Agreed, Icy.”

 


	34. Grey Rift

Rain was falling when they finally made contact with Hawke outside the village. Solas knew that Fen’Falon had wanted to make it before the clouds broke, but the world was not on his _vhenan_ ’s side today. The mayor of the village had caught them before they left and begged for the Inquisition’s help in closing the rift that was spawning the undead - a rift that was beneath the lake of Crestwood.

“I shall stand guard at the entrance,” Solas said to Fen’Falon.

“What? Why?” He did not dare try to explain his utter dislike of the Grey Wardens and their stated mission to her - Fen’Falon would not understand. In this day and age the Grey Wardens were nigh inviolable, and speaking against them brought only pain and suffering as he well knew.

“Someone must watch our backs,” said Solas with a slight grin. Fen’Falon huffed and followed Hawke inside the cave to talk to the Warden friend of Hawke’s. Solas much preferred being out in the open besides, enjoying the feel of the breeze brought by the rain.

He watched the rift across the valley twist and curl on itself, gradually growing wider and wider. Solas would point it out to Fen’Falon after this conversation - perhaps they could still save the farmland if not the people populating it. In the distance beyond the rift he could make out the form of a wyvern, dark hide serving to camouflage it from human eyes.

Demons pulled themselves free from the rift, shades, wraiths, and even a despair demon showing themselves. Solas felt a sadness for the corruption of what had once been purer spirits, though he knew it likely these demons had been that way for centuries. The reminder of his friend Wisdom had Solas clenching his eyes shut, remembering the hours they spent talking in the Fade.

Solas pulled himself free from the memories and reminded himself that his focus needed to be on the here and now - and what he was doing to further his own goals.

Fen’Falon exited the cave still talking to Hawke about their next steps, along with Dorian, Varric, and the Warden that Hawke had met. Solas sneered when the Warden was not looking and refused to talk to the Orlesian man at all.

“We need to get back to camp,” Fen’Falon said. “We can send a raven to Leliana to have scouts check out the Western Approach for Hawke’s templars while we get this rift out of Crestwood’s lake. Sound good?”

“Oh yes, sounds like a lovely time all around,” Dorian said. “Do you have any idea what this weather is doing to my moustache? It will take me weeks to get the damp out!”

“Dorian, _darling_ , if it bothers you that much I know a good way to get the damp out right now..” Fen’Falon had a wicked and mischievous grin on her face, one that Solas imagined matched to the moment she had painted hair onto his head. His _vhenan_ reached to her back and removed the small knife she carried there for the rare times she needed to defend herself without magic nor staff.

“See?” she said, bringing the knife into view. Lavellan advanced on Dorian, still grinning.

“Whoah, hold on a moment there, Fen,” said Dorian. He took a few steps away from Fen’Falon and looked like he wanted to run. Solas felt a grin threatening to break on his face from the situation.

“What? Scared to shave, Tevinter? It’ll get rid of the damp, I promise!”

“Now, Fen, when I said I wanted it gone I didn’t mean right now. And certainly not like that! What will the ladies in skyhold say when I return without my luxurious facial hair?”

Fen’Falon burst out laughing and almost dropped her little knife before she managed to put it away. Dorian looked confused, and Varric was writing in his little notebook, likely putting the incident on paper to use in some future project.

“What?” Dorian asked. “What’s so funny?”

“Your face!” Fen’Falon got out between giggles. “It looked great! Oh, Fen’Harel take me, I’m going to remember that look for the rest of my life, I swear.”

Fen’Falon’s epithet caused Solas to grin in earnest. If only she knew the truth. He would tell her one day, he promised himself. There was just so much else to manage at the moment, and their relationship too new for him to risk destroying his only chance for happiness in the godless world he had accidentally created.

Closing the rift here on the farms would be a good distraction.

 

* * *

 

They closed the small rift near where they had met Hawke easily, almost too easily, Solas felt. He was mollified when it turned out that the large rift was truly under the water, in caves that Old Crestwood had frequented. In order to reach the rift, they needed to drain the lake and then find the cave entrance. As an added complication, bandits had set up shop in the keep that guarded the dam and needed to cleared before they could roll the mechanism to open the dam.

Solas would never get tired of seeing wonder on Fen’Falon’s face. He watched her as she watched the water drain out of the lake to its pre-Blight size, exposing the waterlogged ruins of the old town and leaving kelp strands tangled around lampposts. Even from this distance he could see that some spirits had been attracted to the old town and wondered what tales they might have to tell him if he could only ask.

They found the path to the large rift crawling with aggressive spirits, deepstalkers, and even the occasional giant spider. The spirits were dispatched along with the occasional demon . Eventually the group came upon a dwarven thai, half buried by stalagmites and stalactites.

A faint tingling along his skin alerted Solas to the fact that somehow, by some mysterious means, one of the Veil artefacts that he had helped to build had made its way down here. It was inactive at the moment, but the spells upon it yet tugged at the Veil and the Fade.

“I sense an artefact of my people nearby,” Solas informed Fen’Falon.

“I’ll keep an eye out for it, Solas, thank you,” she replied. She quirked an eyebrow at him, likely wondering at his choice of words. He still thought of her as a quickling elf, despite the Anchor’s power shifting his love into one of the elvhen of old. Her fingers were longer and thinner, her height farther, her frame slightly wider. In their stolen moments together he catalogued the ways in which she was being changed, monitored the mark to ensure that his power would not change the uniqueness of Fen’Falon past tolerance.

It seemed part of the naturalness of the world that the artefact would be in the same room of the ruins as the large rift. The room was enormous, the ceiling likely reaching up to the very foundation of the lake. Water dripped from calcium growths that hung from the ceiling, the soft _plips_ as it hit the ground echoing through the cave. The rift’s twists into the Fade reached up to the ceiling, slowly turning as it churned out spirits, demons, and undead above the lake.

Stairs led down to the floor of the room, and a shorter set led up to the raised area underneath the rift itself. Within seconds of Fen’Falon reaching the short stairs, the rift spewed wisps forth who immediately threw magic at the Inquisitor. The rest of the group joined in the fight, with Varric laying down covering fire with his bow as Solas and Dorian dropped barriers, lightning, and fire runes to assist Fen’Falon.

The wisps were vanished in short order and the group took advantage of the time to catch their breath and patch their minimal wounds from the battle. Tendrils of the rift made contact with the floor and began to pulsate as more demons pushed their way through from the fade. Terrors and a rage demon showed themselves and attacked the group. The three mages spun and turned in an effort to keep the creatures contained, and Varric’s arrows were mostly ineffectual, though they did serve to distract the demons. The battle terminated when Fen’Falon cast a ball of lightning which fried everything in reach.

The demons banished, Solas placed his hand on Fen’Falon’s shoulder. “The rift, _da’harellan_ ,” he said softly.

“On it, Solas.” Fen’Falon raised her left arm and pointed her palm at the rift. Solas felt it as she brought her will to bear on the Fade, channeling power through the Anchor to close the large rift. It was more difficult to close than usual, so much so that Solas wrapped an arm around Fen’Falon’s waist to hold her upright until the rift had vanished and the glow around her hand had dimmed.

“Thanks,” she said. Solas nodded in reply. They found the artefact behind a fallen stone, Fen’Falon clambering over it to spell it awake.

“We should get back to the village and inform the mayor,” Solas said. “He will want to know that the tide of undead has been stopped.”

Fen’Falon huffed at him, but apparently agreed as she gestured for them all to follow. The trek through the caves back to the surface - back to Old Crestwood - was surprisingly light, accompanied by Fen’Falon’s humming of an old Dalish tune. The Dalish had long since lost the words, but Solas sang them in his head as he walked.

_Dance for the gods_  
 _who gave us life to liven the world_  
 _Dance for the gods_  
 _who granted us power ...  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snippet of song at the end is one I wrote back in high school for the Egyptian Gods, located here: http://myk13.deviantart.com/art/Dance-to-the-Gods-89968684
> 
> I also drew art that goes with it: http://myk13.deviantart.com/art/Dance-to-the-Gods-Drawn-92154509
> 
> In case anyone was wondering about it.


	35. Da'harellan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Conversation and fluff abound this chapter! Also, with this chapter I break 50k words, which is just mind boggling.

The mayor of Crestwood had vanished when the group returned, prompting wry grins from Fen’Falon and Dorian. When the four returned to Skyhold, Fen’Falon made a beeline for the rookery where Leliana preferred to lurk.

“Did you get my raven, Leliana?”

“I did, Inquisitor. I have my scouts out looks into the Western Approach now, as you requested.”

“Good. That’s good. Could you spare a few agents to find the mayor of Crestwood? He vanished after we did him a favour, and some documents I spotted in Old Crestwood seemed to implicate him in its flooding. In a very not-nice way.”

“It never is, Inquisitor. He ran, which means he has something to feel guilty about. My agents and I will look into it.”

“Thanks, Leliana.”

Fen’Falon traipsed down into the ever-growing library to find Dorian perusing a book.

“Nice book, Dorian?” she asked.

“I requested it weeks ago. Much of the information is woefully outdated, of course, but you never know when a kernel of truth could hide inside.” Dorian carefully set the book down on top of a pile of other books near his chair. “But I digress. What brings you here so soon, Fen?”

“Oh, you know, just a desire to see your handsome face.”

“I knew you couldn’t stay away from this much amazing for long, my dear.” The two mages laughed, enjoying the light banter with each other.

“I had a question for you, Fen’Falon,” Dorian said suddenly. “Why did Solas call you that - da harrel an? Are you two... _together_?” His accent in ancient elven was terrible.

Fen’Falon flushed a bit. “It’s just a nickname, Dorian.”

“So you two have progressed to pet names now? Do you have one for him, Fen?” Dorian caught on quick, a fact for which Fen’Falon was normally grateful. Right now it just made her want to hide under a heavy blanket where no one could see her. She wondered how on Thedas he’d managed to catch Solas’s soft words to her in Crestwood.

“Shush, Dorian.”

“No really, I want to know.” Dorian raised his eyebrows suggestively. “If you don’t have one for him yet, I could help you come up with one? Just give me all the juicy details.”

“Dorian, one of these days the Creators will get you back for these conversations and the only thing you will get from me is laughter.”

“You can’t just hold on your friends like this, Fen. Think of the pain you are causing my perfect mind!”

Fen’Falon rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. Yes, Solas and I are a thing. Happy now?”

“You cannot just leave it at that, dear. It isn’t right. Inquiring minds wish to know.” Dorian grinned wide, clearly enjoying Fen’Falon’s discomfort at discussing a relationship where anyone could hear.

“Dorian, I swear by the Dread Wolf himself that if you don’t shush I’ll burn your perfect moustache off. We can have a funeral and everything for it.”

Dorian smirked at the elven apostate and held up his hands in surrender. “As you command, oh Inquisitorial one.”

“You’re an ass, Dorian. A loveable ass, but still an ass.”

“You forgot perfect too.”

Fen’Falon rolled her eyes, shook her head, and took the stairs down into the rotunda. Solas would not be there painting yet, she knew. He liked to relax in the rooms he had been given first, when they came back from a trip out to the gods only knew where. Now there was a thought. Fen’Falon decided to visit him at his rooms. The look of surprise on his face alone would be worth it.

Worth it was right. Fen’Falon didn’t even knock, she just walked into the room to be greeted by the sight of Solas’s bare back as she shut the door behind her. She could almost make out the gaps between muscles and even the curve of his hipbones just above the edge of his breeches. The sound of the door alerted Solas and quicker than her eyes could follow Solas had her arms twisted up against her back with her chest pressed into the wall.

Just as quickly he let go. “My apologies, _ma_ _vhenan_. I occasionally react on instinct. It was thoughtless of me.”

Fen’Falon grinned and turned to lean her back against the wall. “Forgiven, Solas. Although…”

Solas quirked an eyebrow at her. “Although, what?”

Fen’Falon blushed. How did one go about telling someone that you kinda liked it when they were scary? Fen’Harel take it, she would go for the blunt method.

“Um...How do I put this without sounding crazy?”

Solas grasped her hands with his.

“Okay,” Fen’Falon said. “I kinda like it when you do things like that.”

“Like what, _da’harellan_?” asked Solas.

“Like what you just did. Like that one night in Crestwood against a tree. It was...nice is too mild. Amazing is closer. I liked it. A lot.” She blushed deeper, her face nearly as red as Sera’s clothing she was sure. Solas pulled her into a hug, his chin rested atop her head.

“Then I shall endeavour to do more of it, _vhenan_ , since it pleases you so.”

His bare chest was distracting, Fen’Falon decided. It looked like the ones that sculptors gave to statues, except it was _real_ and _warm_ and right next to her.

“ _Vhenan_?” he asked.

“Mmmm?” Gods he was comfortable to hold like this.

“Is there something the matter?”

“Mmmm no,” Fen’Falon murmured.

“Might I ask why you have not let go, then?”

“Comfy.”

“Ah. Come then, there is a better place for this.” Solas wrapped his arms around Fen’Falon and picked her up, depositing her on his bed. Fen’Falon twisted around to see him stacking untouched pillows between the bed and the wall. Solas settled himself into the pillows even as he pulled Fen’Falon into him, her back against his chest with his arms resting around her waist. His fingertips just barely came to her hipbones. It was nice to see that she had been right, those months ago in Haven - her head did fit nicely into the hollow of his shoulder.

Fen’Falon wasn’t even aware of when she fell asleep, curled into Solas like that. She was aware of when she awoke. Someone was knocking on Solas’s door loudly, almost sounding panicked. When Solas refused to answer, his hands smoothing her hair against her head, the door was flung open to reveal Commander Cullen.

“Oh! Um. I - uh - I’ll just...I’ll be going then,” Cullen said. Fen’Falon briefly wondered if he was born that awkward or if he had just become so from years of templar training. The Inquisition Commander backed out of the room and shut the door, and Fen’Falon could hear his footsteps echoing away down the hallway.

“Solas...shouldn’t we stop him?”

“I thought you did not care what the others think, _vhenan_.”

“I mean, I don’t but...You seemed to.”

“What’s done is done, _vhenan_. There is no undoing it now, however much we may wish we could.”

 


	36. A Talk

Fen’Falon felt like she could sense Cullen watching her every time she walked through the courtyard. He’d seen her snuggled against Solas, and had clearly gotten the wrong idea about what had been happening, but she didn’t know how to discuss that with the man. Cullen’s reaction on seeing the elven pair had been awkward enough - Fen’Falon shuddered to think of how awkward trying to actually talk about it would be. Perhaps Solas would have a solution.

Solas was back at his painting again, filling in a section of dark brown. Fen’Falon stood in the rotunda and watched him for a moment before making her presence know.

“Solas, can I speak with you? Privately?” Fen’Falon looked up at the library and rookery pointedly.

“Of course, _vhenan_.” Solas put his brush and paint away and followed Fen’Falon up to her rooms, the most private place she could think of. So far no one had really ever barged into her own rooms, a fact for which she was grateful.

“Might I ask what it is you wish to talk about?” Solas said.

“Sure. Um. Yesterday, when Cullen burst in - I think he may have gotten the wrong idea.” Fen’Falon could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks already.

“The wrong idea, _vhenan_?”

“That we had been - that we were - that there was sex involved, Solas. Between us.” Oh gods. That had sounded as though she didn’t want that with him - true, but if he wanted it and realised that she wouldn’t, what would that do to their relationship? She cared for Solas, she really did, but Fen’Falon also knew that sex was just about the last thing on the planet that she wanted to do. She had tried a few times with boys from Clan Lavellan, but it had never felt right, never matched up to how everyone described it. Fen’Falon tried to think of a way to unsay what she had just implied.

“But there was not, ma vhenan. Unless...is that also something you would wish to do with me?” Solas sounded curious and hesitant, almost as if...Fen’Falon hoped she wasn’t extrapolating too much, but the question coupled with his behaviour almost made her think that maybe, just maybe, Solas was like her. If she was wrong, well, better to end things now before the heartbreak could be worse.

Fen’Falon took a deep breath. She had never outright said this to anyone before. “Solas, I...I don’t think I’m into having sex. With anyone. Ever.”

Solas didn’t respond at first and Fen’Falon sought to fill the gap with more words.

“Look, I...I’m sorry if that’s something that you want to do, but I really just can’t. I can’t. It does absolutely nothing for me. If all we ever did was kiss and cuddle and talk about the Fade together, I’d be an immensely happy woman. So I understand if you’re not okay with that and if you’d like to just head things off here inste--”

Fen’Falon fell silent as Solas covered her mouth with his in a kiss.

“ _Ma vhenan_ , every moment spent with you is a treasure. It is...heartening, to know that you feel the way I do about our relationship together.”

“So you...you feel the same way?”

“Indeed.”

“Solas…” Fen’Falon threw herself at the taller elf, her arms wrapping around his torso. Solas brought a hand up to tilt the Inquisitor’s face up towards his and kissed her soundly. Fen’Falon lost herself in the feel of Solas’s arms around her, the heat of his lips against hers, the knowledge that he felt the same as her, that she wasn’t alone in her dislike. Long minutes passed before they finally tore themselves away from each other.

Fen’Falon nuzzled her nose against Solas’s chest. “We still need to figure out what to about Cullen.”

“It was only a matter of time before the others discovered us, _vhenan_. I believe it may be too late for us to put this cat back in its box.”

“But...what if he thinks that we’re, you know…”

“Does it matter, my heart? Let him think whatever he wants about us. It would not change the truth, correct?”

“I suppose.” Fen’Falon sighed. “I just…”

“I know, _da’harellan_. But that is not argument that we have the resources to pursue at the moment. Our focus must be on stopping Corypheus and preventing the dark future that you glimpsed at Redcliffe.”

“I know.”

“Do you not have a meeting with the advisors soon, _vhenan_ ,” Solas said after a few minutes.

“Oh shit.” Fen’Falon gave Solas a quick kiss on the cheek then bolted out of her room and down the stairs to the main hall.

* * *

 

“Our scouts have returned from the Western Approach, Inquisitor,” said Cullen. He was avoiding eye contact with her. Somehow without Fen’Falon’s noticing, over the past few weeks the advisors had actually been letting her make decisions on her own - though the Dalish mage suspected that there would be times when they did not give her that luxury. Even if it was only an illusion of power, it was nice to experience.

“And?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Hawke’s Warden friend was correct it seems. The red templars and Venatori have a strong presence there, even having gone so far as to take Griffon Wing Keep. We’re sending soldiers to assist with retaking it, but they would feel more comfortable with you there to back them up,” Cullen told her.

“All right. What else?”

“Reports of travelers and caravans going missing,” Leliana said. “Wagons left unmanned, goods scattered across the tracks.”

“It would seem that when the Venatori drove the Grey Wardens out, they did not replace the patrols in the Approach. It is essentially a lawless place now,” said Josephine. “All the more reason for us to retake it.”

“Taking Griffon Wing Keep would help the Inquisition immensely. Our presence there could mean more allies,” Cullen said finally.

Fen’Falon looked between the three true leaders of the Inquisition. “Got it, alright. I’ll see about taking that Keep for us after looking into Hawke’s thing. Can I go?”

“Let me arrange an escort of my men to go with you, at least,” said Cullen.

“Fine. Cullen, you know where to find me if you want to talk about something, you know.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“If that everything? I’ll go inform the three companions I’ll bring with me as back up.” Fen’Falon left the War Room to find people to join her. The real question was, aside from Solas, who to bring?

Iron Bull would be handy to have around if they were truly dealing with templars, and Cole’s speed with daggers could be useful. Neither of them were likely to antagonise Solas, unlike Sera or Creators-forfend, Vivienne. Varric might also like to join them...hmmm. As nice as it was to speak with Varric and have him around, given what they seemed to be dealing with in the Approach, Iron Bull and Cole would be able to handle more problems before they could reach her and Solas.

The trip to the Western Approach with Cole, Iron Bull, and Solas went smoothly. Fen’Falon and Solas continued their pattern from Crestwood, staying awake during each others’ watches to sneak kisses, comfort, and conversation without the others knowing. Keeping anything from Cole was a fruitless endeavour, but they could at least keep it quieter.

Their arrival at the scout camp in the Western Approach was greeted by a sandstorm.

 


	37. Hyenas Crossed with Porcupines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this chapter ended up being dialogue heavy. Curse you Erimond and your villain monologuing ways!

Sandstorms and hyenas seemed to be the stock-in-trade of the Western Approach, and Fen’Falon was heartily sick of it. The dusty sand was getting everywhere, which made Fen’Falon want to scratch herself silly for the next week or two. None of her companions showed discomfort, naturally, which meant she had to suck it up.

Scraggly brushes and grasses decorated the landscape in patches, doing nothing to break up the monotony of orange and yellow. Using the directions that Hawke had given the Inquisition, the group made their way towards the ritual tower. Inquisition scouts had confirmed the Grey Warden presence there on Fen’Falon’s arrival.

Two packs of hyenas, a quillback (nasty large creature - Fen’Falon described it as an oversized hyena crossed with a porcupine and made insane), and one Fade rift closed later, they could see the old Tevinter tower. The entrance to it had crumbled except for the gate arch, and the stones of the ancient road must have been enchanted because they had no sand over them. From where Fen’Falon could see, it looked like the road led across a bridge to a staircase. At the top of the stairs was another tower, perhaps an old battlement whose castle had been buried by the sand and time. White steel spires rose from the sides of the tower and ancient Tevinter statues guarded the top of the stairs. Flashes of magic lit the inside of the spires and Fen’Falon picked up the pace, running to the gate.

In the shadows of the gate were Hawke and the Warden Stroud.

“Glad to see you made it,” Hawke said with a grin.

“Was that in doubt?” said Fen’Falon. “What’s the situation here?”

“The Wardens are inside,” Stroud said. “They have become desperate - all the Wardens in Orlais are hearing the Calling.”

“The Calling?”

“It is a Grey Warden matter. There comes a time when a Grey Warden can hear the darkspawn calling to him. When that happens, the Warden says goodbyes and leaves for the Deep Roads,” Stroud said.

“They go to their deaths?” Fen’Falon asked. Solas made a noise of disgust.

“It is better to die in battle than to let the taint make you a darkspawn yourself, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I...I suppose.”

“The Grey Wardens inside are few,” said Hawke. “You can take point, I’ll guard your backs.” The dark-haired woman unsheathed a pair of long daggers from her back and nodded to the Inquisition group.

“All right then. In we go.” Fen’Falon led the others and Stroud up the stairs, where they were greeted by the sight of a Warden stabbing another. The now-dead Warden’s body gave a lurch and was replaced by a rage demon.

“Now bind it, like I showed you,” a man standing on the upper platform said. The remaining Warden raised his arm, the glow of red lyrium surrounding it, and the demon backed away from him slowly. The other man made a gesture and the Warden obeyed, taking up a place to one side that was in line with another Warden and across from two more. Each Warden had either a demon or a shade next to them.

The man on the platform had noticed the group. His black hair was tied back, strands framing his face where they had broken free. The man had been out here for some time, if his stubble was any evidence, and his shaped beard was looking worse for the wear. He wore armour that seemed unique to the Venatori - metal plates laid over an open white robe with a high collar. Fen’Falon thought he looked like a creep.

“Inquisitor! What an unexpected pleasure to see you. Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service,” Erimond gave her a sardonic bow.

Stroud glowered at Erimond. “You are not a Warden,” he said.

“Ah. The one Warden-Commander Clarel let slip. And you’ve found friends, and now you’re here to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

Fen’Falon held out her arm to keep Stroud from attacking. “Not yet, Warden. Erimond, what is your game here?”

“The Wardens were desperate. They were hearing the Calling - a Calling controlled by my master, the Elder One. Warned by the Elder One, we Venatori were prepared to lend the Wardens our aid. I came to Clarel offering help, and together we came up with a plan. The Wardens would raise an army, to make one final assault on the Deep Roads.”

“But why?” Fen’Falon asked.

“The archdaemons are Old Gods corrupted by darkspawn. With an army of demons - an army with no need for food, rest, an army that cannot grow afraid - the Wardens could attack the Old Gods in their sleep, destroy them and any chance of a Blight. They could make one heroic last stand to end the Blights, forever.”

“That is absurd,” Solas said. Fen’Falon thought he looked upset by the magister’s words.

“Ah, so that’s where the demon army comes in. I was wondering about that,” said Fen’Falon. It didn’t explain how it managed to stay hidden until the invasion, but that was coppers compared to catching it in the formative stages.

“You know about the demon army? No matter. You see, the ritual my master and I taught the Wardens for controlling the demons has a...side effect. Allow me to demonstrate. Wardens,” he called out as he raised a hand into the air. “Hands up.”

The Wardens all raised the same hand, exactly as Erimond had.

“Hands down,” Erimond said.

“Corypheus has control of their minds,” Stroud said to Fen’Falon.

“No shit,” Fen’Falon said wryly.

“This is only a test, of course,” Erimond said. Fen’Falon had always laughed at villain monologues in the stories, but she never thought someone would actually do one in reality. If he weren’t being so damn informative, she would fry him on the spot. “Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the demon army will march on Thedas.”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Fen’Falon spat. She unhooked her staff from its holding place against her back, prompting her companions to the same for their weapons. Fen’Falon fired a burst at Erimond, but he dodged and then vanished. In the same moment, the enslaved Wardens attacked with their demons.

Iron Bull rushed in swinging his enormous battleaxe, followed closely by Cole with his daggers. The pair of melee fighters kept the attention of the Wardens and demons off Fen’Falon and Solas, who spun and cast together as if they shared a mind. Each elf covered the blind spots of the other, their spells and runes complementing each other. Working in tandem, the four Inquisition members and Stroud made fast work of the demonspawn and the Orlesian Wardens. Hawke reappeared just in time to help them dispatch the last shade.

“You were right, Hawke,” Stroud told the woman. “Through the ritual, the Warden mages are slaved to Corypheus.”

“What about the warriors?” Hawke asked. Fen’Falon and Stroud looked at each other and Stroud shook his head.

“Oh. Of course. It can’t _really_ be blood magic without someone being sacrificed!” Hawke said bitterly.

“The Wardens were lied to,” Fen’Falon said. “They were just trying to prevent any future Blights. Erimond took that desire and warped it.”

“With blood magic and human sacrifice,” said Hawke. She spat over the crenelations.

“The Wardens may have been wrong Hawke, but they had their reasons,” Stroud said.

“Blood mages always do,” said Hawke. She crossed her arms, her body language wanting the conversation to be over already.

“Anyways…” Fen’Falon said, trying to fill the awkward silence.

“I believe I know where the Wardens would have gone, Herald, Hawke. Erimond seemed to flee in that direction,” Stroud pointed to indicate. “There is an abandoned Warden fortress there called Adamant.”

“Then let’s find them, and soon. We can’t allow Corypheus to gain this army - it could mean the end of the world,” Fen’Falon said.

“Warden Stroud and I will scout Adamant, then, and confirm the Grey Warden presence there. I’ll return to Skyhold with the information.” Hawke tapped Stroud on the shoulder and the pair walked down the stairs back into the Approach.

“Sounds like a plan,” Fen’Falon said to no one in particular. She sighed. “Now we get to retake an ancient keep! Oh what fun.”

She led Bull, Cole, and Solas down the same stairs and into the wilds, aiming for the fortress that was visible even now. The sandstorms had cleared for the moment, but Fen’Falon didn’t doubt that they would return with a vengeance when she least expected it.

“I wanted to help,” Cole said suddenly. “But their minds were not their own. Pain, suffering, lancing agony against their minds. They cried out to me, and I couldn’t do anything.”

Fen’Falon put an arm around Cole. “It’s alright Cole. We can’t always help people, you know. Once Corypheus got a hold of them, it was probably too late anyways. Come on, we’ll set up camp and you can help me brush the sand out of my armour, okay?”

Cole nodded. Fen’Falon led the group across the flats until they reached an area that sat in the lee of a ruined tower. A good enough place to camp, and within an easy walk of Griffon Wing Keep for their attack later.

 


	38. Situation Reports

It took them almost a whole week to get Griffon Wing Keep into working order, even with the help of the soldiers Cullen had sent with them. The Venatori they had taken it from had been using the cistern to dump corpses, poisoning the well, which needed to be cleared before the mages could even begin to purify it. For the most part, though, the Keep was in excellent shape - better shape than Skyhold had been in, Fen’Falon thought.

The trip back to Skyhold was utterly uneventful, for which Fen’Falon was grateful. Their arrival back at the keep was greeted by Leliana’s ravens cawing and Cullen, who informed Fen’Falon that she was needed in the War Room as soon as she was able. Hawke had returned a few days ahead of them from scouting Adamant Fortress and had news.

The advisors could wait however. Fen’Falon had tried her hardest to get the sand out of her armour and off her skin along the way back, with some success. Some of the deeper crevices in her armour might need the smith to get clean, and the elven mage desperately wanted a long dunk in the underground stream.

Fen’Falon moved on instinct, taking stairs down from the main hall to the lower hall where the kitchens sat, and the steps from there to the stream that fed Skyhold’s river. With no one around to be offended by her nudity, the elf shucked her clothing and stepped into the water with a sigh of relief. A handful of silt and pebbles served to scrub the sand from her body, and the fast-moving water washed it downstream. She did the same for her armour, doing her best to get underneath the recently-added scalemail and into the seams of the leather. Fen’Falon exerted her will briefly and flash-dried the clothing, unwilling to wear damp armour for a moment longer than necessary.

From there it was back up the stairs and into Josephine’s office, which was empty - the Rivaini lady was already in the War Room, it seemed. Hawke and Varric were having a conversation outside the War Room doors.

“They’re looking into options for an assault now,” Hawke was saying.

“Thank you again for coming, Hawke,” Varric said.

“You did well, Varric. The Inquisitor is...just who we need.” Fen’Falon wondered if they knew she was walking up the hallway or not.

“Oh, it’s been great here. Just like home.” Varric chuckled and Hawke laughed with him, sharing a private joke. Fen’Falon had heard about the events of Kirkwall and read Varric’s Tale of the Champion, but it seemed there was more to the tale than had been told.

Fen’Falon went past them and into the War Room. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were all already inside, hunched over the map table deep in discussion. The Inquisitor stood there for a few minutes and just listened, happy to be invisible for the moment.

“So what’s the word on Adamant?” Fen’Falon asked. The advisors looked up from the table.

“It is very old,” Cullen said.

“It was built during the Second Blight to stand against the darkspawn and has done so since,” said Leliana.

“The good news there is that our more modern siege equipment should be able to do some serious damaged against it - it was not built to withstand these machines,” Cullen informed Fen’Falon.

“I have also been in contact with Lady Seryl of Jader, who has graciously offered to lend us sappers. Trebuchets are already on their way to a staging area,” Josephine said.

“Okay, so we can take Adamant. Josephine, how is that invitation to the Empress’s Court coming?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, the Empress’s cousin, has extended an invitation to join him for Empress Celene’s ball at the Winter Palace. I believe he is doing so in the hope that we will support his bid to become Emperor,” Josephine said.

“When is the ball?”

“In just under two weeks. I have already sent for a master tailor to make formal Inquisition outfits for you and whomever you bring with you so that we can present a united front to the court. Leliana and I have also arranged manners and dancing lessons for you, Inquisitor.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You must gain the court’s approval, Inquisitor. Without it, support for our operations in Orlesian lands will plummet, making it difficult to move around,” said Cullen.

“The Game is not to be taken lightly,” Leliana said. “We play to win, to death if need arises. As the leader of the Inquisition, it is imperative--”

“It is imperative that we stop Corypheus, yes. But I didn’t sign on for playing nice with _shemlen_ whose day can be ruined by someone not complimenting their hair style,” Fen’Falon retorted hotly. “Actually, I didn’t sign on for any of this! You all put me here and have danced me about like a bloody puppet!”

“Inquisitor--” Cullen started.

“No. I’m going to say this. For a couple months now I’ve done as asked, I’ve run willy-nilly all over Thedas helping people in the name of the Inquisition. At your behest. And now you want me to pretend to be a _shemlen_ noblewoman? What’s next, a frilly dress that I can barely breathe in?”

“Inquisitor, please,” said Josephine.

“Without the court’s approval, it may prove impossible to get close enough to Empress Celene to stop the assassination,” Leliana said. “We need you, Inquisitor. And you need these lessons if we are to have any hope of convincing Orlais of our legitimacy. Please do not leave us now, not when we are so close to preventing that dark future you saw.”

Fen’Falon glowered at the advisors. Overruled again, as expected. They had a point, she knew, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. Maybe if she bargained with them…?

“Fine,” Fen’Falon snapped. “I’ll do these ridiculous lessons. Under two conditions: one, I will not, under any circumstance, wear a dress to this ball. And two, _I_ get to choose who will officially join me at the ball.”

“Inquisitor, we must choose your companions carefully, to avoid antagonising the court,” Leliana said.

“No. Either I get to pick, or I don’t go.”

The advisors all looked at each other, Cullen even going so far as to shake his head. Finally Josephine spoke. “It is agreed then. I will notify you when the etiquette and dance instructors have arrived, my Lady Inquisitor.”

Fen’Falon made a noise of disgust - she was not looking forward to learning to be a _shem_.

“Is that all?” she asked.

Cullen inclined his head at her. “I think we are done here for now, Inquisitor.”

“Please let me know who you plan to have with you inside the palace in two days’ time, Inquisitor. I will need to inform the palace herald so that the proper titles can be given if necessary.”

“Got it, Josephine.” Fen’Falon turned and walked out of the War Room, causing the torches near the door to flicker briefly. She already knew that she wanted Solas with her - if anything, just having him nearby would be enough to steel her for the game of pretend she would be playing. Lost in her thoughts of who else she would like to have at the Winter Palace, Fen’Falon almost walked into the door to her suite of rooms before she realised where she was. She had walked all that way like some mindless wraith.

Fen’Falon opened the door to find Solas standing on her balcony. The door shut behind her with a snap and Solas turned towards her at the sound.

“Oh thank Mythal you’re here Solas,” Fen’Falon breathed as she went to him.

“What is it?”

“The damn advisors want me to learn court manners and dance.”

Solas actually had the nerve to grin at her. “Useful skills to have, _ma_ _vhenan_.”

“Argh. Why should I have to pander to some ridiculous human court? Even if I behave like one, the humans will never see me as more than an upjumped knife-ear…”

Solas drew Fen’Falon into him with a hug. “Ah, but that will make it all the more satisfying to defeat them at their own game, _da’harellan_. Imagine their surprise! Their estimation of you will soar should you manage such a feat, _vhenan_.”

Fen’Falon sighed. Trust Solas to have a point that actually made sense beyond ‘just because’. “I suppose, Solas. I just don’t like having to play these games for them.”

Solas kissed her forehead. “I have seen these games played out in the Fade...I could assist you in learning to play, if you would like?”

“Really? That would be amazing! Anything to make me feel less like a puppet.”

“We will play the game in our own way, _ma_ _vhenan_ , and trick them all. But come, the night grows late and there is much to explore in the Fade.”

The pair laid down on Fen’Falon’s bed, over the covers. The elves were long since overused to campsite sleeping, and Fen’Falon in particular found that sleeping under a covering as heavy as this caused dreams where she was suffocating or being crushed. Fen’Falon laid her head against Solas’s chest, the top tucked into his neck, one arm across his torso. Her eyes fluttered shut and she fell asleep just as Solas moved one of his arms around her to hold her close to him.

 


	39. Lessons

“Aaaand step two, three, four. Step two, three, four,” the instructor said. Fen’Falon was practicing the dance for the ball. “And dip, and twirl, and step two, three, four. Well done, my lady. Bow to your partner, now, bravo, well done.”

Two days until she left for the Winter Palace, for what had once been a seat of the elven empire: Halamshiral. Josephine had already had Fen’Falon work with the tailor that was brought in so that the chosen outfit would fit appropriately- Fen’Falon wasn’t quite sure what that actually meant. The outfit so far seemed very militaristic to the Dalish elf: leather straps along the shoulders led to pieces that she was informed were called epaulettes - they looked like pauldrons to her. Red velveteen fabric made up the bulk of the top, edged with gold thread and matching buttons. Overlaid on top was a very dark blue satin sash, held around the waist by a leather belt. Leather gloves came up and over the sleeves almost to her elbows, with darker brown leather breeches to complement the colouring. Or so the tailor insisted.

They also insisted that she wear boots, which led to a row that could probably be heard down the mountains from Skyhold and maybe even as far as Haven. They felt tight and constricting around her toes, and while Josephine insisted that Fen’Falon practice wearing the blighted things, the only thing that came of that was blisters along Fen’Falon’s ankles and heels. Muttered imprecations against _shemlen_ and their ridiculous clothing spewed forth from the Inquisitor’s mouth; most of her companions knew well enough to simply ignore the nasty words.

Fen’Falon nasty temper carried her through the days until the ball, mostly being taken out on practice dummies as she studied the magics of being a Knight-Enchanter, and in one notable case, a human commoner who had recently joined the Inquisition as a craftsman. Fen’Falon had overheard a conversation in which the man said that he was glad that he didn’t have to work too closely with _them_ , to which the dwarf he was speaking with had asked “What? Mages? Warriors? Templars? Horses?” and so on until the man was exasperated and replied with “No, I meant _elves_ ”. He obviously hadn’t thought anyone nearby enough to hear, but Fen’Falon had heard the conversation and gotten very, very upset.

Blackwall had heard her shouting at the unfortunate man and caught her arms in time to keep her from jumping the human. The human had muttered something about Dalish savages which had his dwarven conversation partner running, hopefully to get Commander Cullen before the poor human was incinerated by the Inquisitor. Cullen threw the man out of the Inquisition and banished him from Skyhold once Blackwall explained the events that had gotten Fen’Falon so worked up. The Commander had taken Fen’Falon down the mountainside into the valley where the bulk of the soldiers camped and gotten a few of them to help him build snow-dummies for Fen’Falon to blast apart with lightning.

* * *

 

“Thank you, Cullen,” Fen’Falon said when the last snowperson was in pieces and the soldiers exhausted.

“You have been on edge all week, Inquisitor. I feel this was a long overdue exercise. I’ll have my men keep an eye out for that craftsman and prevent him from returning to Skyhold, if that is your wish.”

“It is. _Shemlen_ like that are why the clans do not interact much with outsiders anymore.”

“Inquisitor, about the other day…” Cullen said, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Fen’Falon realised he was talking about the day he’d found her curled into Solas in Solas’s rooms.

“Don’t mention it, Cullen. Really, don’t mention it. Your intrusion is forgiven.”

“I, uh, I -- I’m sorry if I interrupted anything. I hadn’t realised that you two were...well…”

“There was nothing to interrupt.”

“You’re too kind, Inquisitor. Thank you. We should get back up to the keep before a search party comes out looking.”

Fen’Falon rolled her eyes at Cullen but agreed, and the two made the long walk back into the caldera of Tarasyl’an Te’las. At the top of the same rise where she had paused on the way from Haven sat a white wolf with blue eyes. It looked for all the world like the exact wolf that she had occasionally seen in the Hinterlands and twice at Haven, but that was crazy talk - how on Thedas could a simple wolf have followed her all the way up here?

Cullen drew his sword to slay the creature but was stopped by Fen’Falon’s outstretched staff.

“Don’t,” she said.

“It will get into our livestock, Inquisitor.”

“It’s practically tame, Cullen. I’ve seen this wolf before - it is no enemy of ours.” Fen’Falon approached the wolf slowly, careful not to spook it into running. “It isn’t safe here, my friend. THe soldiers will kill you, and you are too pretty for a death such as that.”

The white wolf bowed its head and turned from the Dalish elf. Cullen watched in awe as the beast loped off without so much as a backwards glance.

* * *

 

Dance lessons were dull, but nowhere near as dull as the etiquette ones had been. As much as Fen’Falon appreciated knowledge, sometimes acquiring that knowledge was almost not worth the effort. The etiquette instructor had shown her the ludicrous number of bows - how to bow to a Marquis, to a Duchess, when she was presented to the Empress, and so on - and repeatedly walked her through proper greetings and styles of address depending on the person she was speaking with. She learned how to tell one rank from another by the way their formal attire was cut, by the accessories and number of jewels sewn into the clothing, by how fancy their footwear was. Fen’Falon had made a comment about how the party must be deadly dull if she was focusing on footwear and the instructor had threatened to walk out. Only Josephine and Leliana’s repeated apologies on her behalf had convinced the noblewoman to stay on.

Solas’s lessons were far more interesting. Subtleties of words and meanings were quite obviously a favourite game of his, and he seemed to enjoy showing Fen’Falon the myriad of ways to craft words so that they sounded like a compliment even when insulting the conversation partner. Or the way that the slightest variation in body language could indicate support or a lack thereof for a proposed path. Fen’Falon found herself starting to wonder just how much Solas had really picked up in the Fade - sometimes it seemed that he must have lived at a court, to know so much about the hidden games that could be played.

The best of Solas’s lessons were the nights he took her to Halamshiral itself. The Fade-palace was twisted, of course, and littered with memories and fragments of events that were happening in the Winter Palace. Fen’Falon wondered how it would look in the waking world, how it would compare to the ancient memories that shaped it in the Fade. Solas informed her that here in the Fade, the palace looked most like it had when the elves had ruled from it. Apparently the Orlesians hadn’t changed the layout, for the spirits that resided there moved down paths they had likely used for centuries. The two elven mages spent their nights roaming the palace, learning its hallways and rooms, secret passages that may or may not still exist. They enjoyed the thrill of discovering new memories that had interlaced with old ones, and spent some of their waking hours together discussing which pieces belonged to which memory.

The smile that lit Solas’s face when Fen’Falon asked a particularly intelligent question about the Fade almost made suffering the etiquette and dance lessons worth it. Almost.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation that Fen'Falon overhears between a human and dwarf about working with elves is one that I actually stumbled across in my playthrough the other night. I was shocked that I didn't get options to deal with it - so I wrote in Fen'Falon's method here. :P


	40. Halamshiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally at Halamshiral! What a long journey it's been to get here! ^_^
> 
> As long as my muse agrees with me, things ought to start moving a bit faster from here on out.

The Winter Palace looked just as it had in the Fade. Multiple levels, each with their own balconies and walks were visible even from outside the arrival area. Buttresses served double duty as towers and battlements to those towers. Gold and copper domes topped minarets made from white stone. Leafy foliage could be seen poking above the outermost walls. Fen’Falon thought it was almost a shame they were arriving at night - she thought the palace must look amazing in daylight when the sun hit it.

“Inquisitor, are you listening?” Josephine said.

Fen’Falon turned from her study of Halamshiral. “Sorry.” She wasn’t.

“As I was saying. The political situation here is very fragile - the Empress fears that the Inquisition’s presence may be enough to shatter it. The Grand Duke is delighted to have us as his guests as a result - please remember that our invitation here comes from him. Regardless of our behaviour towards him, the Duke has created an opportunity for himself, if not an outright advantage.”

The carriage ahead of them - some poncy Orlesian nobleman, Fen’Falon was sure - moved up in the line, and theirs jolted forwards to match.

“All right,” said Fen’Falon. “So try to be nice to the Grand Duke so we don’t get thrown out. Anything else?”

“You might wish to be nice to the other nobles here as well, my lady Inquisitor. The more they like you, and by extension the Inquisition, the easier it will be for us to move within the palace when the time comes. Even a small favour such as picking up a dropped kerchief could be turned into an advantage for us.”

Fen’Falon made a face. Picking up nobles’ handkerchiefs? Please shoot her, somebody. Maybe Solas could help her come up with a convenient means of getting out of this ridiculous ball. The only good that had come it so far was that she got to see Solas in the formal wear. It actually would have looked great on him if it weren’t a brilliant crimson, and if he weren’t wearing this ridiculous wrapped-cloth hat with it. For whatever reason, he refused to take the hat off.

Finally it was their turn to enter. Fen’Falon and the three advisors all exited their carriage, joined by Solas, Iron Bull, and Varric from the carriage they had ridden in. Fen’Falon had a brief moment to wonder how in Thedas someone had gotten the formal uniform in a size large enough for Bull before the group was being announced into the palace gardens.

Inquisition soldiers filed into the garden first as the honour guard. With a stomp of their feet, the soldiers snapped to attention, looking for all the world like professionals. Inquisitor Fen’Falon Lavellan entered first, followed by Solas, Varric, and Iron Bull, with the advisors behind them. Fen’Falon tried her hardest to avoid looking around in wonder - she had been warned by the damnable etiquette instructor and then again by Josephine that doing so would make it harder to gain the respect of the Orlesian court.

Grand Duke Gaspard strode forwards to greet them all, wearing his Orlesian finery and a golden half-mask on his face. Fen’Falon was glad that as foreigners and a power of their own, the Inquisition was not required nor expected to wear masks. Having something attached to her face like that would have been immensely annoying.

“Inquisitor Lavellan,” Gaspard said. “It is a great pleasure to finally meet you. The rumours are saying that you battled an entire army of demons. Imagine what feats the Inquisition could manage with the full support of the rightful emperor of Orlais.” Fen’Falon had wondered when he was going to bring up something like that - men with his kind of power did not invite upstart semi-religious groups without wanting something in trade. It was a bit blunt, as Fen’Falon understood Orlesian politics and double-talk. But then again, she supposed leading a civil war was blunt enough already.

“I could be persuaded to see the benefits to such an alliance,” Fen’Falon responded. Between Josephine, Leliana, and the etiquette instructor, the Inquisitor had been well coached on how to respond to offers like Gaspard’s. Answering in such a way that sounded like agreement while promising nothing - what a fascinating art.

“We may see it materialise by the end of this evening,” Gaspard said. Fen’Falon hoped Leliana had caught that - it almost sounded like he was planning something. Something that could be the assassination of Celene.

“I am not a man who forgets his friends, Inquisitor,” he continued. “You help me, and I’ll help you.” Fen’Falon wondered if he was trying to make her feel at ease with his blunt words. She did appreciate it, but it ran counter to the training she had received and to her own inclinations when amongst strangers.

Gaspard held out a hand to Fen’Falon. “Ready to shock the assembled court by appearing as the guest of the usurper, my lady? They will be telling stories of this night well into the next age.” Fen’Falon was more certain than before that the Duke had something planned for the night. Surely the Inquisition’s presence alone would not be enough to spawn tales such as that.

“If they have seen a better spectacle in their lives, my lord, I will be most shocked,” Fen’Falon replied. Polite, yet slightly flirty, yet demure, yet amused: the etiquette instructor would be proud to see her student now, Fen’Falon thought.

“I had a feeling we would get along, Inquisitor,” Gaspard said. “As a friend, there is perhaps something you could also do for me this evening. The elven woman Briala - I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations this evening.” Fen’Falon recalled Josephine mentioning that the Empress and Gaspard were supposed to talk about ending the Orlesian civil war during the ball later tonight. Gaspard was still talking, “my spies have found ‘ambassadors’ all over the walls this evening, behaving suspiciously.”

“Please tell me you have more to go on that that, my lord,” said Fen’Falon. The Inquisition could hardly investigate on the rumours of foul play.

“Ambassador Briala used to be an elven servant of Celene, until my dear cousin had her arrested for crimes against the empire. It was a political move on her part, and a mistake. The elf certainly has motive enough to wish the Empress harm tonight, Inquisitor.” Gaspard sighed dramatically. “Please be discreet in your inquiry, Inquisitor. I may not like The Game, but if we do not play it at all, enemies will make us out to be villains. But we are keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we go in?”

“I would like to stay out here a moment, Grand Duke. If it is all right, I will join you inside shortly,” Fen’Falon said.

“Very well,” Gaspard said. “Do not tarry long, my lady Inquisitor.” The Duke went up the stairs and into the palace itself, leaving Fen’Falon in the courtyard with her companions and the Orlesian nobility.

The nobles nearest her were whispering loudly, exclaiming over the Inquisition - “I didn’t expect an elf!” “Is that really the Inquisitor” and so on could be heard. Fen’Falon reminded herself to keep her temper in check, as there were sure to be many more comments about her Dalish heritage in this _shemlen_ court. She spotted a ring fall from a noblewoman’s hand and decided that she would take Josephine’s advice about doing favours literally. Every little bit helped, yes?

Fen’Falon walked over and picked up the ring after the noblewoman had moved away. It was a pretty gaudy thing, bright rose gold with a sapphire about as large as Fen’Falon thumb. Small and bright yellow stones made a circle around the sapphire, and Fen’Falon wondered if the woman had picked this out herself or if it had been given as a gift and not wearing would be seen as an insult. Either way, the woman would surely be pleased to have it back. Fen’Falon found the noblewoman a little ways away.

“I believe this is yours, my lady,” Fen’Falon said with a slight bow. Going by her dress, the woman was the wife of a count, barely noble enough to have rated an invitation here.

The woman looked surprised. “Oh, thank you Inquisitor! I cannot believe I dropped it. I would have sent a servant to find it, there was no need to do this yourself.” The noblewoman pressed a caprice coin into Fen’Falon’s hands and she stored it in a pocket for later. Leliana had told her of the custom and how it could be used to gain favour with the court.

“It was no matter, my lady. A pleasure to help you and to see the smile ‘pon your face.” The noblewoman tittered at Fen’Falon’s comment and turned to gossip with the other similarly-ranked ladies in her conversation circle. Fen’Falon nodded to herself - perhaps Josephine had a point with this favours business.

“That was well done,” Solas said when she returned to the group. Fen’Falon grinned at him.

“Well as long as you think so,” she said with a mocking bow. Iron Bull and Varric chuckled at her joke, and Solas cracked a tiny smile. “I suppose we had all better go inside, wouldn’t do to keep the Duke waiting after all the effort he’s gone to.”

 


	41. Wicked Eyes

Solas could not help but be amused at Lavellan’s reactions to the Winter Palace. The Dalish elf had likely never seen something as opulent as this. To Solas, it almost felt like Arlathan, just with more gold. The Orlesians had even managed to work cloth-of-gold thread into the carpets, displaying the Empress’s wealth for all to see.

The Inquisitor consulted with her advisors in the shadow of the doors to the ballroom before coming over to where he stood with Iron Bull and Varric. Both Varric and the Bull seemed uncomfortable here at a court, for reasons Solas refused to guess at.

“All right,” Fen’Falon said. “Here’s the deal: Leliana would love if we could get some dirt on Celene, Gaspard, and even Briala if possible. To quote her, ‘even a chance word could be enough to tear one of them down’. She’s been playing The Game for way longer, so we should just listen and pass things on to her. Josephine warns me that words in The Game are a life and death matter and should be chosen carefully - Varric, that means shut up, for the most part --”

“But, Icy…” Varric started.

“No. I love your quick tongue, my friend, but we need Orlais too much, and my sharp commentary alone could be enough to throw us all out. Apparently the Orlesians aren’t tickled pink with my choice of retinue either,” Fen’Falon said with a grin. Solas knew that she had picked them for just that purpose - a subtle tweak at their noses, a reminder that the Inquisition had power across all races. Well, he amended, maybe not for that purpose, but it served as such nonetheless.

“Cullen said he’d have the men he snuck in keep an eye out for the ‘shady elves’ that Gaspard asked us to look into, so we’ll wait for his word on that. Beyond that, be over nice to everyone, and I guess direct them to me if they want to talk Inquisition stuff,” said Fen’Falon. Solas marvelled at how she had begun to grow into her power as Inquisitor. Hate it, hate being a figurehead leader as she did, his _da’harellan_ was a leader born and it showed.

“If it’s that important to you Icy, I suppose I’ll have to cope,” Varric said with a grin.

“Thank you Varric,” she replied. “Oh, and, keep an eye out for people behaving suspiciously. They may lead us to the assassin.”

They met Grand Duke Gaspard just outside the ballroom doors. The Inquisitor and Gaspard walked in together, but were separated by the herald just inside. A quick discussion indicated who was to enter when, and the court herald took his place at the railing to make the announcements.

“And now presenting,” the herald said with a pause for drama. “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons. And accompanying him, the Lady Inquisitor Lavellan! Champion of the blessed Andraste herself.”

Lavellan followed Gaspard down the stairs onto the ballroom floor and paused as she had been taught, then slowly made her way to the other side with the Duke as her advisors and retinue were announced.

“Accompanying the Inquisitor,” the herald continued. “The Iron Bull, leader of the famed mercenary company Bull’s Chargers, as the name might imply. Renowned author Varric Tethras, head of noble House Tethras, Deshyr of Kirkwall to the Dwarven Merchants Guild. And the Inquisitor’s elven manservant, Solas.”

Solas was unsurprised by the introduction - he was an apostate mage, with no land, titles, nor honours that this modern age was aware of. Fen’Falon, on the other hand, had clearly not be told ahead of time as Solas could see her gloved hands make fists as she made her way across the dance floor. He wondered how loud the argument over this would become back at Skyhold.

“Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honleath, Commander of the forces of the Inquisition, former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall. Lady Leliana, Nightingale of the Imperial Court, veteran of the Fifth Blight, seneschal of the Inquisition, and Left Hand of the Divine. And Lady Josephine Cherette Montilyet of Antiva City, Ambassador of the Inquisition.”

His job complete for the moment, the herald returned to his post by the door. Solas watched as the three advisors followed the Inquisitor and Gaspard across the floor to make their greetings to the Empress. Solas could not have believed that he would missed the court of Arlathan as much as he did in this moment. To play the game of intrigue again, and in such a position of promise! Everyone thought him little better than a servant, albeit a guest servant. He had a feeling it would make a difference in the playing of the Game, to be this unknown quantity, this nobody, instead of his rightful godly self. Oh how different the introductions would have been then - the gasps of the court as a supposedly pagan god was introduced! But his power was broken into shards, yet to be recovered from the hands of a madman.

Greetings complete, the advisors and retinue took places around the upper floor of the ballroom to give the Inquisition a complete view of the goings on. Solas, as a supposed manservant, was asked to await his party in the Guest Wing of the palace. Iron Bull joined him there, and Varric disappeared off into the bowels of the palace after having said something about avoiding other members of the Merchant’s Guild.

It was not long before an Orlesian noble attempted to treat him like a servant.

“You there, rabbit, fetch me another glass,” the noble said.

Solas ignored the man. The noble drew closer and made as if to backhand Solas, who caught the raised hand in his own.

“I am not a servant of the palace, my good man,” said Solas. He allowed a hint of his power to enter his voice. “Do not attempt to strike me again.”

The noble looked stricken and walked off, hopefully to find an actual servant. The nobles left him alone after that, for the most part. The servants on the other hand, seemed to decide that he was a friend, and often came by to top off his glass of wine. He was well on his way to being drunk for the first time in more than a century when Fen’Falon finally managed to get away from the ballroom.

“Are you enjoying the party, Solas?” Fen’Falon asked him. He was leaning against a statue, arms clasped in front of him, looking for all the world like a lounging nobleman himself.

“I am. I do enjoy the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events.”

“Sex? I thought…” Fen’Falon looked puzzled.

“In the game of court intrigue, sex can be used as a weapon, _lethallin_ ,” Solas said. In his almost-drunken state, it was becoming harder to keep from referencing his days in Arlathan with the other gods - from before everything went to the Void and chaos.

“You seem oddly comfortable here,” Fen’Falon said.

“I have seen many such events in the Fade. The powerful are always the same - it is only the costumes that change.”

“I suppose. Are you being treated alright? Earlier a noblewoman called me ‘rabbit’ and I nearly got us thrown out,” Fen’Falon had the grace to look chagrined about that, at least. Solas thought about asking who had stopped her from attacking the noble before he realised that in the scheme of their goals here, it did not really matter.

“I do not think the nobles quite know what to make of me,” Solas told her. “The servants are happy to keep my glass filled, however.” He grinned at Fen’Falon to show that he was enjoying these facts.

“Which explains why you are relying on that lion statue to hold you upright, _vhenan_ ,” Fen’Falon laughed. “Care to dance with me, Solas?”

“I would love to, if it would not make you a pariah in the court for dancing with an elven apostate. Perhaps after we have dealt with this assassin?”

“Promise?”

“I will do my best to save a dance for you before the night is over, _ma_ _vhenan_.” Solas saw Fen’Falon nod and then run off to intercept a Council messenger before the man left the wing. Far more amusing was seeing her a few minutes later, scaling the garden trellis in plain view of the nobles as she searched for clues to their mystery assassin and that person’s tie to Corypheus. It was a beautiful sight, watching her climb confidently up the trellis, deft hands avoiding the thorny rose vines to grasp the wooden structure itself.

The bells began to ring, signaling for a return to the ballroom. Solas looked around for Fen’Falon, but she was nowhere in sight. He trusted that the Inquisitor would make it back in time - after all she had until the second bells stopped ringing to be ‘fashionably late’ as Vivienne would surely describe it.

 


	42. Dance with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan's dialogue is lifted almost entirely from the game, as I don't trust myself enough to write for her yet.

Fen’Falon suffered Leliana’s fussing over her appearance as they waited outside the ballroom for the second bells to finish. While they waited, Fen’Falon passed along the gossip and intrigue-laden documents she had found in her search of the Library and the Empress’s Vault on the upper levels of the palace. Leliana stopped fussing and moved back inside the ballroom as a woman came down the stairs and into the vestibule.

The strange woman had her black hair tied back and up, with a large golden necklace-collar combination set upon her collarbone. The woman’s gown was Orlesian style, but was distinct from every other gown Fen’Falon had seen at the party so far, being a deep wine red in colour. A small feather token was attached to the woman’s left shoulder, feathers streamlined against the dress as the woman came to stand before Fen’Falon.

“Well, well. What have we here?” the woman said. Her voice was dry and sandy, older than her looks implied to Fen’Falon. “The leader of the new Inquisition, Herald of the faith. Delivered from the Fade by the grace of Andraste herself. What could bring such an exalted creature to the Imperial Court? Do you even know, I wonder?”

Fen’Falon would swear that the woman was mocking her. Fine, if she wanted to play the Orlesian Game, then the game would be playing. Fen’Falon took a leaf from Solas’s book and answered the question with another. “That is the great mystery of the evening, is it not? Courtly intrigues and all that.”

“Intrigues can obscure much, but not all.” This woman started to annoy Fen’Falon with her nonsense strings that sounded so wise. “I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to the Empress Celene on matters arcane. You, on the other hand, have been busy this evening, hunting into every corner of the palace.”

Fen’Falon quirked an eyebrow at this Morrigan woman.

“Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?” Morrigan asked.

“You’ve been watching me? How typical of this court. What prey is this, that I might share with you?”

“Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very walls,” said Morrigan. “An agent of Tevinter. So I offer you this, Inquisitor: a key found on the Tevinter’s body.”

“Anything else?”

“Where it leads I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can.”

Fen’Falon sighed. It seemed she would forever be shuffled around like a pawn in the games of other players. “I’ll see if I have the time to look into it,” she said.

“Proceed with caution, Inquisitor. Enemies abound, and not all of them align with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting.” Morrigan entered the ballroom, Fen’Falon hoped to stand near the Empress as a last resort against the mystery assassin.

Given what Fen’Falon had found in her investigations earlier, it seemed probable that this key led into the locked servants’ quarters that led from the Guest Wing. If the elves who had mentioned disappearances down there were correct, it was logical to guess that the assassin or their accomplices might be staging from there.

The Inquisitor ducked into the ballroom briefly to let her advisors know of her plan, then quickly collected Iron Bull, Solas, and Varric to help her search the servants’ quarters. They geared up just outside, then entered the door. The door from the Guest Wing led right into the kitchens and introduced the group to a dead elven man.

“Well, we’re definitely on the right track at least,” Fen’Falon said. “We need to move quickly so that we don’t miss whatever it is that we aren’t supposed to miss.”

Nods of assent from her companions had Fen’Falon moving forwards through the servants’ quarters and out into the gardens. The path led under a trellised archway covered in vines to a fountain, in front of which was yet another body. This one, however, still had the murder weapon intact. Careless, to leave evidence in the open like this - Fen’Falon was inclined to think that the weapon’s owner was being framed.

“This can’t have been a servant,” Fen’Falon said. The clothing was far too fancy to have been a servant’s garb.

“That’s a Council Emissary,” Varric said. “Curious to find him here.”

“Isn’t that Duke Gaspard’s crest on that dagger?” Iron Bull asked. Fen’Falon looked closer at the weapon - the crest did indeed match the one on the invitation she had been given.

“If this was truly him, he won’t get away with it,” said Fen’Falon. “Time to have a word with our kind host.”

She stood from her perusal of the body to move away, when an elven servant came running in from another entrance with a scream. Before any in the Inquisition could act, a harlequin-themed rogue appeared from the shadows and cut the servant down, then vanished and reappeared on an upper balcony. Close behind the rogue was a group of Venatori agents - these at least, they all knew how to deal with. Spells and blades flew between the two groups until only the Inquisition people were left standing.

“Somehow, I should’ve guessed,” Fen’Falon remarked ruefully. “We need to figure out what in the Void is going on here.”

The foursome ran for where the Venatori had come from, hoping to find more clues. Hints here and there led them through closed off apartments where they found more of the Tevinter cultists lurking. A quick search of the apartments yielded only an elven locket in what appeared to be the Empress’s study. At the end of a hallway, roughly tangent to where the harlequin rogue had gone, they found a group of three Venatori defending the rogue. More violence and blood dripped onto the floors of the apartments, but the four Inquisition members were again the ones standing at the end of it all.

“I did not think to find them here,” Briala said, stepping from the shadows. “I came only to investigate and help my people.”

“Your people?” Fen’Falon asked.

“My agents among the servants have been disappearing out here all night. I had hoped...but no matter. Thank you, for what help you have given here.”

“I will always help a fellow elf, Ambassador.”

“I wish more of the Dalish were like you then, Inquisitor. I need to be getting back to the ballroom before they notice I am missing. You should do the same.”

“I shall. I think I know what is going on now.” Briala leapt from the balcony outside the hallway and into the gardens, and Fen’Falon followed, her friends not far behind. They ran through the gardens and back through the servants’ quarters and made it back into the Hall of Heroes just as a new set of bells began to ring. Fen’Falon’s companions scattered to take their places once more and she did a quick search of the Trophy Room after distracting one of the guards. Several documents in the room seemed to implicate Gaspard, which Fen’Falon thought oddly convenient given her previous discovery of his crest on the dagger.

As the second bells began to toll Fen’Falon made her way into the ballroom once more. It seemed it was time for the dancing - the band started to play an Orlesian tune that Fen’Falon’s instructor had drummed into her head in preparation for this very occasion.

“I believe you promised me a dance, Inquisitor Lavellan,” Grand Duchess Florianne said.

“It would be my honour to dance with you,” Fen’Falon replied. Given Florianne’s closeness with the Empress, it seemed unlikely that she would be a potential assassin here, but Fen’Falon had learned better from her novels and lessons. It was always the person investigators would least expect, and Florianne had the perfect position from which to strike.

The two women took to the dance floor, Fen’Falon leading as she had been taught. She felt ridiculous, dancing with a woman so much taller than herself, but did her best to carry the steps with grace and dignity, even as Florianne attempted to distract her with conversation.

As the dance concluded and the pair began their bows to the court, Florianne spoke in a low tone. “My cousin has been sneaking men into the Winter Palace, Inquisitor. I have heard that his mercenary captain is in the Royal Wing - the man knows _everything_ about Gaspard and his plans, should you be so inclined.”

“I will attempt to look into it if possible, my lady,” Fen’Falon said. The music finished and their bows taken, Fen’Falon moved away from Florianne. Once up onto the upper floor, she was swarmed by her advisors. After a quick consultation, the decision was made to take Florianne’s bait and investigate the Royal Wing of the palace. Even if Gaspard wasn’t planning a coup tonight, finding out why he had mercenaries sneaking into the palace could serve as blackmail material later for the Inquisition to use.

 


	43. Wicked Hearts

The royal apartments were even more opulent than the public areas of the palace. Gilt was everywhere, and gold thread brought the colour into tapestry and carpets. It glittered in the limited torchlight - it was obvious to Fen’Falon that no one was expected to be in this area at all. Unless they’d been given a key or informed that the door would be unlocked, it seemed. She wondered once again what Florianne’s game was - was she their assassin?

They searched the apartments quickly and efficiently, finding the occasional piece of blackmail, saving an elven servant from being killed, and setting a naked nobleman free from the Empress’s bed. The latter made Fen’Falon want to take steel wool to her eyeballs - if she forgot that moment right then it still would be too late.

Finally the group came to an area of the apartments that was evidently still being restored. Scaffolding leaned against the walls, beams of wood and pieces of tile stacked beneath them. The area was unlit save for moonlight streaming in through the large windows. As Fen’Falon passed a window, she could have sworn for a moment that she had seen something.

“Through there,” Fen’Falon said, indicating the door along the same wall. It looked like it led out into a small garden or courtyard. With any luck, they would find that Captain that Florianne told them about inside. She opened the door and ran through, the others close behind her, to find herself surrounded by archers. Each and every one had an arrow already on their string, and pointed right at her. The beginnings of a rift glimmered in the center of the small courtyard just in front of a soldier who had been tied to a post. Scaffolding blocked off parts of the courtyard, which Fen’Falon noted would make fighting more complicated if it came to that.

Above the courtyard, looking down on the archers and the Inquisitor, stood Grand Duchess Florianne herself. Fen’Falon suddenly had the strong urge to wipe the smug grin off the Duchess’s face. The mage carefully moved her Marked hand behind her back, ready to open the rift if necessary.

“Inquisitor,” Florianne said. “What a pleasure! I wasn’t sure you’d attend. You are such a challenge to read - I had no idea if you’d taken my bait.”

A trap. Of course it was a trap - this was bloody fucking Orlais, where everything was couched in nice words and simpering smiles, even as you got stabbed in the back.

“If you’re here for another dance, my lady, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Fen’Falon said. She gestured to the archers. “After all, I owe each of these lovely fellows one first.”

The noblewoman chuckled lightly. “It was so kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling.”

“And I’m tired of your fucking face.”

The smile on the Duchess’s face slipped. “Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him.”

“Oh yes, mustn’t disappoint the madman,” Fen’Falon spat. “If you keep this up you’ll spoil him, Florianne, and then where will you be? Wouldn’t it be kinder to let him get used to disappointment, my lady?”

Florianne ignored Fen’Falon, apparently more interested in gloating. “In their darkest dreams, no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you’ll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They’ll be talking of it for years.”

Fen’Falon’s lips pulled back into a feral grin. She would end this Duchess if that was what it took. Florianne began to walk away, likely headed back into the ballroom.

“Kill her,” the Duchess said. “Bring me the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for the master.”

Fen’Falon lunged forwards, intending to go after the Duchess. She was stopped by a hail of arrows - the archers would need to be dealt with first. A tug of her will through the Anchor had the rift open and demons and shade came through just outside the ring of archers. With any luck, the Fade creatures would occupy enough of the archers until Fen’Falon and the others could deal with everyone.

Iron Bull charged a rage demon while Fen’Falon, Varric, and Solas picked off the archers. A shade got too close for Fen’Falon’s liking and she summoned a spectral mana blade to punch through the creature before it could even strike her. Caught by the flow of the battle, Fen’Falon moved from target to target, alternately burning her enemies to ash and cutting them down with her mana sword. The training she had managed to get in with the Knight-Enchanter her advisors dredged up was proving extremely useful.

Fen’Falon caught her breath and realised that all enemies, demon and Venatori archer alike, were gone. With a twist of her will and a careless gesture, she closed the rift. Only then did she remember the soldier she had seen tied to one of the scaffolds. The Dalish mage ran over and quickly untied the poor man.

“Andraste’s tits,” he said as he stood. “What was that all about? Were those demons? There aren’t any more coming around, right?”

“In order,” Fen’Falon replied. “That was an attempted coup that we definitely need to stop. Yes, those were demons. And no, there shouldn’t be any more, at least not here. Anything else?”

“That fuckin’ bastard. Never thought he’d leave me out for fuckin’ horrors over a fuckin’ bill.”

“You think Gaspard did this to you? Did he lure you out here?”

“Well, his sister did, but it had to come from him, right? Fuckin’ bastard. The Duke wanted to move on the palace tonight, but didn’t have enough fancy chevaliers. So he hired me and my company, had to pay us triple our rate to get us to come to Orlais. Stupid poncy cheesemongers.”

“Would you be willing to say that to the Empress for me?”

“Sure. Talk to the Empress, or to the court, or sing a blasted song in the Chantry. I’m game - you saved my life, you did.”

“Excellent. On your way then, I have a murder to stop.” Fen’Falon watched to make sure the man was heading back into the main palace, then ran for a door nearby. If her mental map of Halamshiral was correct - and it ought to be, given how much time she and Solas had spent here in the Fade - this door led through the chapel and then straight back into the ballroom.

The Inquisitor emerged into the ballroom to see Florianne and Gaspard on the other side of the upper level, looking out over the festivities. Fen’Falon grinned wolfishly when Florianne’s eyes met her’s across the room. Florianne gave a start but covered it up quickly before her brother noticed.

“Thank the Maker you’re back, Inquisitor,” said Cullen - he had noticed her return, then. “The Empress is going to give her speech soon. What should we do?”

“Let me speak to Florianne first - if I can publicly humiliate her, we may be able to come out ahead in all this.”

“If you’re sure,” Cullen said. He almost looked nervous.

Fen’Falon nodded. Florianne was on the landing of the stairs, speaking with Briala and Gaspard. The Dalish elf made her way across the dance floor, giving Briala and Gaspard time to disengage from whatever nonsense the Duchess was spewing. The Orlesian court gasped at her audacity of intruding on the time allotted for the Empress.

“Grand Duchess Florianne! We owe the court one more show.” Fen’Falon called out for all to hear.

“Inquisitor,” said Florianne.

“Smile, _dear_ ,” Fen’Falon said, borrowing one of Vivienne’s mannerisms. “The whole court is watching us. And I will _never_ let you near the Empress.”

“Oh, Inquisitor,” Florianne simpered. “Your jokes are so charming!”

“You think I’m joking? Your plan - your master’s plan - to assassinate the Empress has failed. You failed to keep me out of the ballroom - which means you no longer have the opportunity to strike. _You_ were the one who murdered the Council Emissary, not Gaspard. You arranged for all your most hated enemies to be here, so you could cut them down in one fell swoop!”

“This is very entertaining, but surely you do not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?”

“I wanted to think better of you, sister,” Gaspard said from the stairs.

“Gaspard! Surely you do not believe this elf’s tale! You know I would never--” Florianne fell silent as Gaspard turned his back on his traitor sibling. Together, he and Briala left Florianne alone on the landing with the Inquisitor. Royal guards came down either set of stairs, blocking off all hope of escape for Florianne. Florianne backed away from the ones she could see until the guards behind her made their presence known.

“Take her away,” Fen’Falon ordered. This was her show, and therefore hers to complete. As much as she hated having to take charge of others, at times like this she was only too happy to take the reins. The Empress watched impassively, her Orlesian mask helping to hide the woman’s emotions.

Fen’Falon looked up at the Empress and gave a slight bow. “Your Majesty, I believe we ought to speak privately. Perhaps somewhere else?”

Fen’Falon followed the Empress onto the royal balcony off the ballroom.


	44. Dance with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> argh. All the snow has made it actually busy at work when we aren't closed - I literally haven't been able to write almost all week except for a few words. We're finally done in Halamshiral! Yay! This chapter is almost entirely conversation, chunks of which are ripped straight from the game because the wording is better than anything I could try to fit in the same space.

Out on the balcony, Fen’Falon stood in a loose ring with the Empress, Duke Gaspard, and Ambassador Briala. Guards posted themselves at the doors that led back into the ballroom, and the Inquisitor found it interesting to note that none were out on the balcony with them. The harlequin rogue from earlier wouldn’t have any trouble reaching this balcony if they wanted to, although Fen’Falon supposed that she could count as guard enough for the Empress out here.

“Your sister attempted regicide in full view of the entire court, Gaspard,” Celene said. Even with the mask covering half of her face, Fen’Falon could see that Celene looked upset.

“Don’t forget about the Ambassador, Celene. She must have known about this!” Gaspard tried to deflect the blame onto Briala, who wasn’t having any of that game.

“You don’t deny your own involvement, Gaspard?” the Ambassador asked. Fen’Falon looked between the three, trying to find a way to resolve this to the Inquisition’s benefit. To the benefit of the Inquisition’s goal of stopping Corypheus.

“I do deny it! I knew nothing of Florianne’s plans, I swear it! But you,” he pointed at Briala, “You knew and did nothing!”

“I don’t know which is better,” said Briala. “That you think I’m all-seeing or that you’re trying so hard to play innocent and failing.” Gaspard took a step towards Briala.

“Enough!” the Empress said firmly. “I will not have us bickering while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the safety of the Empire, I will have answers.”

Fen’Falon took the opportunity to step into the conversation.  “Your majesty, Briala helped me to uncover the plot. I wouldn’t have been able to stop Florianne like that without her.”

“You were working together?” the Empress asked.

“Of course,” Briala said.

“We found notes that Gaspard sent your general, ordering him to sneak troops into the palace grounds,” said Fen’Falon.

“It was meant defensively. I expected betrayal of some kind here,” Gaspard said quietly. “Just not from my sister.”

“Keep talking, Gaspard,” said Briala. “Eventually you’ll convince somebody.”

“We also found your mercenary captain, Gaspard, and he is willing to confirm that you brought hired thugs into the palace for an attack.” Fen’Falon glared at Gaspard and wondered what excuse he could give for this affront.

“Mercenaries?” asked the Empress. “So much for your chevalier honour, cousin.”

“There’s more, I could go on for hours if need be,” Fen’Falon said. “But I think we’ve heard enough, haven’t we?”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “There can be no doubt of your treason, Gaspard.”

“It would seem not,” Gaspard said.

“Briala helped me find all this for your sake, Celene,” Fen’Falon reminded the Empress. The imposing woman turned to Gaspard.

“In light of overwhelming evidence, we have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the Empire. You are hereby sentenced to death,” Celene said to the Duke.

Fen’Falon had a grim smile on her face - not quite the result she had hoped for, but with any luck executing Gaspard would stabilise Orlais until Corypheus could be dealt with. The Inquisitor had gone to a lot of trouble to get this information - now it was time to help out a fellow elf, even if she was a flat-eared Orlesian.

“Pardon my boldness, Empress, but I think that Briala might also deserve a reward for helping to uncover all this?” Fen’Falon said.

“I can scarcely believe you did all this for me,” Celene said softly to Briala.

“Celene,” was all Briala said in return.

The Empress raised a hand, summoning her guards out to the balcony. She gestured to Gaspard, who shrugged off the grasping hands of the guards and walked out between them, dignity intact for the moment.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Celene said. “I owe you my life, and Orlais owes you its future.” With another motion the Empress and Briala left the balcony to return to the ball. Fen’Falon followed and they all paused just inside.

“You have done so much,” said the Empress. “For my people, and...for us.”

“We won’t forget this,” Briala said.

“What happens now?” Fen’Falon asked.

Briala and Celene looked at each other, unspoken words between them. “There will be some...changes, to the court,” Briala said with a grin.

“Not just the court,” Celene replied. “Come, stand with us, Inquisitor. We must give the good news to the nobility.”

Fen’Falon followed the reunited lovers to the space where the Empress had stood at the beginning. Noticing the Empress, the band faded its music out and a hush fell over the gathered nobles in the ballroom. Fen’Falon took up a military stance a few paces behind the Empress, Briala one step behind her nearby. Once satisfied that there was quiet, the Empress spoke.

“Lords and Ladies of the court,” she said, her voice carrying as only those trained to it could manage, “This is a night for celebration! Those who sought to poison our Empire with treason have been brought to justice. It is a new age for Orlais: we shall build a world in which all men and women live in harmony. Let the cornerstone of change be laid - I introduce the newest member of our court: Marquise Briala of the Dales.”

Briala took her cue to stand forwards, coming up to the railing next to the Empress. “This is not just a victory in Halamshiral,” Briala said. “Or within the Empire. Or even for elves alone. This is a triumph for everyone! Over a thousand years ago in the Valarian Fields, elves and humans together defeated the Imperium. We can do so much more now. We are greater than our ancestors ever dreamed. Together, we will start by saving our world from the enemy who took the Divine and tore the sky apart.”

Briala motioned Fen’Falon forwards. She was expected to speak to this poncy gathering? Her advisors hadn’t even mentioned this as a possibility - she had nothing to say that sounded near as good as Briala and the Empress. Mythal protect her, and….protect her again for the prayer she was about to say. Fen’Harel guide her words, so that she may pull one over these nobles and not sound like a Dalish ‘savage’ to them.

“We will all need to work together, to defeat Corypheus,” Fen’Falon said. She nodded to the Empress.

“We are already tracking these Tevinter agents,” Briala continued. “Soon they’ll have no place to hide.”

“But that is tomorrow,” the Empress said. She and Briala were well-matched, Fen’Falon thought, and it was easy to see how their relationship could only improve coordination in Orlais. “Tonight, we celebrate our new-found fellowship. Let the festivities commence!”

The nobles clapped and made noises of agreement until the room was filled with the sound. The band picked up again, and soon there was dancing on the lower floor. Fen’Falon was amazed at how fickle the court could be, and glad that she would only have to deal with such things as required by the Inquisition. They were one step closer to defeating the Elder One - one step closer to her going home to Clan Lavellan. The Empress and Briala went off to one side, likely to talk about the new Marquise’s future plans,  and Fen’Falon decided she had had enough of the court and sucking up to idiot nobles. The Inquisitor informed the nearest advisor - Cullen, as it turned out - and went out onto a balcony.

The plant life helped to ground her, even as looking up into the sky reminded her of what was still left to be done. The greenish glow left by the breach was still there, the storm clouds still gathered above Haven despite the sealing of the hole. Fen’Falon wondered if that colour would ever go away.

“Enjoying yourself, Inquisitor?” the raspy voice could only belong to Morrigan. Fen’Falon turned to meet the arcane advisor, one eyebrow quirked up in question.

“By Imperial decree, I have been appointed liason to the Inquisition,” Morrigan said.

“So you’ll be joining us for the return trip?” Fen’Falon asked.

“It would appear so.”

“I’m sure your advice and knowledge of Orlais will be most useful.”

“Celene knows you face an opponent who wields great magical power, which is far more important than her own curiosity. You will require my knowledge if you are to defeat such power.”

“I will? Am I not a mage as well?”

“I have knowledge which falls beyond the realm of most mages. I suspect this is also true of Corypheus. Thus it behooves you to add to your arcane arsenal, yes?”

“Uh-huh. Like blood magic?” Fen’Falon made a rude noise. “I’m sure your advice on those matters will be most welcome, Morrigan.”

“I know many obscure, forgotten, and forbidden arts. Some of it you might consider blood magic, yes. Regardless, what I possess I place at your disposal, to use or ignore as you desire.”

“I look forward to speaking further with you, then, Morrigan. But I will watch you closely if I feel the need.”

“As you wish. I shall meet you at Skyhold,” Morrigan said, and left the balcony to return to the party. Fen’Falon pulled a stray hair from in front of her eyes back behind her ears and leaned on the railing.  It was really a shame that Halamshiral was in the hands of _shemlen_ now, she thought. It had been magnificent in the Fade.

She felt a presence behind her, the mark on her hand warming almost imperceptibly.

“I am not surprised to find you out here,” Solas said as he joined her. “Thoughts?”

“Things turned out well,” Fen’Falon replied. “But it’s been a very long day.”

“For everyone, I’d imagine. It’s nearly over now - Cullen’s giving the men marching orders as we speak.” Solas turned to look into the ballroom as the music shifted, one hand on Fen’Falon’s shoulder to steady himself. He turned back to Fen’Falon with a mischievous grin on his face.

“Come,” he said. “Dance with me! Before the band stops playing.”

Fen’Falon returned his grin. “I would love to!”

They positioned themselves just as they had during her lessons at Tarasyl’an Te’las: one hand raised and clasped with the other’s matching hand, her remaining hand on Solas’s shoulder and his remaining hand around her waist. It was an easy dance, a waltz if Fen’Falon remembered correctly, and the movements came naturally to the two elves. One, two, three, and one, two, three...the pair danced, moving closer to each other with every rotation, until the band slowed, the signal that the dance was about to end. Solas dropped Fen’Falon into a dip, much to her delight, and kissed her with a whispered _vhenan_.

 


	45. Leaving

The return to Skyhold was filled with retellings of Fen’Falon’s unmasking of Grand Duchess Florianne, courtesy of one Master Tethras. Varric used dinner around the campfire to polish his tale, all while denying that he was writing a book about the Inquisitor. Fen’Falon knew better - she occasionally caught site of the notebook Varric was fond of writing notes in.

No sooner had they gotten back than a messenger came running for her, interrupting a conversation with Dorian in the library. Dorian had of course wanted all the details of the Winter Palace and the ball - from what the music was like to the arrest of Florianne to Fen’Falon’s private dance with Solas on the balcony.

“So,” Dorian said, “did anything _else_ happen on that balcony?”

Fen’Falon laughed and swatted at the Tevinter. “You know nothing did, Dorian. We’re not like that.”

“But it’s we now, not ‘Solas and I’? How fascinating. Perhaps --”

“Message for you, Inquisitor,” a voice called. The messenger had made it up the stairs after all, just in time as far as Fen’Falon was concerned.

“Yes?” Fen’Falon said.

“War Room. Soon. Message from Adamant came for Cullen while you were away.”

Fen’Falon sighed. Of course there wouldn’t be a reprieve. The world never worked like that. “Alright, tell Cullen I’ll be there shortly.”

She turned to apologise to Dorian, but he wouldn’t have it. “You have duties and whatnot to take care of, Fen. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“If you’re sure, Dorian….I’m happy to make them wait.”

“Go on, Fen’Falon. This is more important than discussions of who said what and the latest gossip from Orlais.”

“Alright. But you still owe me a comparison to Tevinter!” The two mages laughed and Fen’Falon vaulted the railing to land on Solas’s painting scaffold. A slide down the ladder and she was out the door into the main hall, on her way to the War Room.

 

* * *

 

“The Empress has requested that we try to make contact with her forces in the Exalted Plains, Inquisitor.” Cullen placed a map marker on the appropriate spot.

Fen’Falon tilted her head at the Commander. “I thought we were heading for Adamant?”

“We’ll have to pass through the Exalted Plains on the way, Inquisitor. For what it’s worth, I think we should honour the Empress’s request. The soldiers there will want to know that the civil war in Orlais is over.”

“Fair point. Maybe we can get rid of the corpses walking around there as well?”

Cullen muttered something unpleasant about the walking dead. “I’ll send an extra squad with you, then.”

“Inquisitor, have you given thought to who will be joining you in the main push there?” Leliana asked.

Fen’Falon hadn’t, but she knew who she didn’t want. “Blackwall needs to stay here,” she said. “We know that he doesn’t hear the calling, but who’s to say that he won’t start if we bring him to what might be the source?”

“It gladdens me to hear you think like that, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “Is there anyone else you have concerns about?”

Fen’Falon thought for a few moments before responding. “Until we find a way to keep Cole from being bound, I think he should remain behind as well. If a magister or Warden mage realises that he’s a spirit made flesh he could become a liability. And he wouldn’t want to harm us in that way. The others...I’ll take Solas, Dorian, and the Iron Bull with me for the main thrust. Anyone else who wants to join is welcome. Spread the word?”

“I’ll let the others know, my lady,” said Cullen. Fen’Falon’s face scrunched up at the title - how she _hated_ these titles. Ever since they had left Halamshiral, the advisors and the others had started using “my lady” and “lady inquisitor” more frequently, despite Fen’Falon’s repeated admonitions not to do so. Only Dorian and Solas managed to resist the urge so far, for which the Dalish mage was immensely grateful.

The War Council over, Fen’Falon practically stalked from the room, suddenly eager to vaporise practise dummies. Or maybe just bludgeon them to pieces with her Fadeblade until she ran out of mana. She was stopped in her thoughts by the sight of Sera headed for the gate into the caldera. The city-elf had a large rucksack slung over one shoulder, the curve of a cheese wheel just poking through the gap between the cover and the sack. Fen’Falon bounded down the stairs through both courtyards to catch up.

“You’re leaving?” she asked the other elf.

“Ya. Bullshit is what you lot are, yeah? Invite me here all friendly like, then don’t even say a hello or take me nowhere.”

“Sera…” Fen’Falon began. The city elf had a point, but Sera’s use was in the people she knew, not in combat. Plus, the elf’s manner of speech grated on Fen’Falon greatly, to the point where spending more than a few hours in her company was enough to give the Dalish mage a headache.

“You lot are all hypocrites,” Sera interrupted. Her free hand gestured as she spoke, pointing alternately at Fen’Falon, Skyhold, and in the general direction of the sky. “Well, fuck this, then. You lot can all keep worryin’ about the big fish, yeah? I’m goin’ back to the city. Help the little guys, you know?”

“Sera, you don’t have to--”

“Jus’ cause you’re all elfy and shit don’t make you better, Quiz. So buzz off, yeah?” Sera turned away from Fen’Falon and walked out the gate. Fen’Falon was left confused and vaguely hurt, although the latter emotion served only to confuse her further. She hadn’t even liked Sera, and yet losing someone - losing an elf - from the Inquisition somehow mattered. Somehow, without her realising it, the Inquisition had become important to Fen’Falon. Snuck up on her the same way that her taking charge snuck up on her advisors. The same way Solas had snuck his way into her mind and heart.

Fen’Falon made her way into the practise yards and summoned her Fadeblade. The dummies never knew what hit them as the Inquisitor worked out her frustration by dismembering the cloth people. She lost herself in the meditation of the repetitive motions, suddenly understanding why Cassandra was always out here. Slash, slash, chop, parry, thrust, shhhhhink, thump - another arm on the training grounds. Fen’Falon didn’t even notice when the sounds of others practising ceased, the soldiers watching in fear-tinged awe as their Herald methodically cut her way through the training grounds. She stopped only when she felt the touch of a familiar warmth on her shoulders, her Fadeblade dematerialising as she turned to face Solas.

“ _Vhenan_ , I think you have done enough damage for one evening,” he said gently. Fen’Falon looked at the yards to see but five dummies still whole, the others removed from their stands and hacked to pieces. Had they been living beings, Fen’Falon had a feeling she would be hurling from the bits and pieces left everywhere.

“I suppose you’re right,” Fen’Falon replied sheepishly. Solas grinned at her attempt at humour and led her back into the keep, one hand at the small of her back. Instead of taking her into his usual spot in the library rotunda, though, Solas led Fen’Falon up the stairs to her own quarters.

“Why here?” she asked.

“I thought you might appreciate somewhere more...private, in which to discuss why you felt the need to dismember and disembowel the Inquisition’s training mannequins,” Solas said with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Fen’Falon blushed faintly in embarrassment. She honestly hadn’t realised until he stopped her just how much damage she had been doing.

“Sera left,” Fen’Falon said. The two elves sat on the edge of the bed she never slept in, preferring to roll herself into the coverings and sleep on the floor of her balconies.

“And this was upsetting because…?”

“I don’t know, Solas. I really don’t. It’s not like I liked her - not like it’d be if you or Dorian or Bull or Varric left.”

"It is because you care,  _ma lath_."

Solas ran a thumb along Fen’Falon’s jaw line, avoiding the place under her chin where her vallaslin ended. She leaned into the touch - she enjoyed the way it calmed her thoughts and allowed her a moment’s rest from plans and strategy and worry. Solas’s hand moved from under her chin to the back of her neck and gently kneaded the skin there. Fen’Falon made an involuntary noise halfway between a moan and a purr and Solas answered with a soft chuckle.

He kissed the tips of each ear and then lightly tugged on one with his teeth, causing Fen’Falon to flush as heat rushed up and down her body. A rustling of cloth behind her made Fen’Falon realise that Solas shifted position just as he pulled her fully onto the bed. A muffled squeak left her mouth when Solas straddled her prone form, capturing her wrists above her head with one hand. Fen’Falon was sure that she looked ridiculous, flushed bright red against the lavender vallaslin. She opened her mouth to apologise for looking so to Solas and was silenced with a kiss that had her wishing Solas hadn’t pinned her down.

“ _Ma da’harellan_ ,” Solas murmured against Fen’Falon’s neck. She wriggled underneath him, trying to free her hands so that she could run her fingers along his ears and chin, to touch him. Solas growled low in his throat, sounding for all the world like the white wolf that she had seen outside Skyhold a few weeks past. He kissed her again, full of passion and possession, and grinned to see her eyes half-lidded with the pleasure of his touch along her collarbone.

“ _Ma fen_ ,” Fen’Falon whispered back. Solas stiffened briefly and Fen’Falon regretted her choice of words, wondering if the inadvertent comparison had insulted him in some way. He released her wrists and sat up against the headboard. “I’m sorry, Solas, I didn’t mean--”

“Shh, _vhenan_. It was unexpected, that is all. Why ‘wolf’, if I might ask?”

“It just...fit,” Fen’Falon said. Her anxiety was eased when Solas smiled.

“Indeed it does, _da’harellan_.”

Dorian would have an I-knew-it  grin on his face when Fen’Falon got around to telling him that she did in fact have a petname for Solas now.

 


	46. Unexalted Blood

The Exalted Plains were just as they had been more than a month ago when Fen’Falon had come through to help Solas’s spirit friend, Wisdom. Stripped and burning trees littered the central plains, in sharp contrast to the verdant stream-fed area where Keeper Hawen’s clan was still camped. Fen’Falon insisted on visiting with the Keeper first, before they tried to do anything about the Orlesian soldiers and the undead. Cullen’s soldiers could hold against the undead while she helped a _lethallin_ with his problems.

The three mages and Iron Bull made short work of the Keeper’s request to clear the unquiet dead and shades from an ancient burial ground, Fen’Falon having to stop Bull multiple times from attempting to loot the graves contained therein.

“Bull, this place is sacred to my people,” she said the third time Bull made as if to open the graves.

“All graves are sacred to someone,” the Iron Bull replied. Fen’Falon wondered if he was doing it just to annoy her.

“Need I remind you that this is an _ancient_ _Elven_ burial ground? Everything is probably booby trapped, and Hawen’s hunters can see us anyways.”

“Fine,” Bull grumbled. The foursome dropped off elfroot and spindleweed when they returned to the Dalish camp, to the gratitude of the elven woman in charge of the clan’s stores. Hawen had no answers for the runes Fen’Falon had found amongst the ruins, sadly, but Solas had suggested that the library back in Skyhold might hold answers. Fen’Falon would have to wait until they returned from Adamant Fortress to investigate them fully.

They met back up with the Inquisition soldiers near the first ramparts they had come to in the Plains. So far as Fen’Falon could tell, not a one of the men had been slain by the undead crawling up from the trench.

Fen’Falon got the soldiers gathered up and stood in front to address them. “Alright, folks, listen up! There’s undead around and my goal here is to put them down for good. According to our scouts, Venatori raised them, so we just have to find the source and destroy it. Got it?”

The soldiers shouted their assent.

“That was nicely said, Fen,” Dorian said.

“Speaking of finding the source,” Fen’Falon started, “you’re a necromancer, right?”

“I am no mere _necromancer_. _I_ am mortalitasi, greatest of mages. And prettiest too.”

Fen’Falon laughed and smacked Dorian’s shoulder. “That you are, my friend. The prettiest undead around. Do you have any sense of where we should go? The soldiers ought to help keep most of the nasty buggers off us.”

Dorian pointed farther along the nearby ramparts. “There’s a confluence of energies in that direction, Fen. Heading there could be quite the picnic.”

“Mmm yes. We can have roasted fingers and pickled ears for supper this evening.”

Fen’Falon smiled when she heard Solas chuckle at her joke and outright grin when Iron Bull’s booming laughter overtook it.

 

* * *

 

Most of the day later, both the Eastern and Western ramparts were clear, along with the path to Fort Revasan. The Orlesian soldiers were glad for the relief, though it seemed most of them had been siding with Grand Duke Gaspard. They were less pleased to hear that the Duke was headed for the executioner’s block or the gibbet. The Fort’s commander had mentioned that the Empress’s forces were holed up in the Citadel across the river, but when Fen’Falon helped liberate the Riverside Garrison, the bridge to the Citadel was destroyed. She made a note to have Cullen send men to rebuild it.

More interesting to Fen’Falon were the oversized statues to Fen’Harel that littered the Exalted Plains. They were carved differently to the smaller ones that clans places outside their camps to ward the Dread Wolf off. Fen’Falon would have said they were carved with love, but that was ridiculous - Fen’Harel was responsible for the loss of the Creators according to every tale the clans had about their gods.

The largest of the statues was visible from the Garrison as she looked across the river. It was easily as tall as Halamshiral from base to ears, if not larger, and sat upon a mountain ledge. Conditions in the Exalted Plains made it impossible to reach, however, much to Fen’Falon’s disappointment.

“Hey, Solas,” Fen’Falon asked as they walked back towards the Fort.

“You have a question, _vhenan_?” he said.

“In your Fade travels, did you ever come across a reason for these statues? Everything I know of our legends suggests that they shouldn’t be.”

“Hmmm.”

The group passed another of the Dread Wolf statues in the silence. It seemed to be guarding the entrance of an old tunnel of some sort, set as it was in front of a rockfall and in a steep dip in the ground.  The statue was old, but completed bereft of moss, hanging vines, or other growths. Fen’Falon wondered who, if anyone, had cleaned the statue off and why they would do so.

“Solas? Anything?”

Solas didn’t respond, prompting a huff from Fen’Falon. Sometimes he wouldn’t answer questions - one day Fen’Falon would discover why that was. Fen’Falon ordered a group of soldiers to clear the fall so they could explore what lay beyond. She was hoping it would be an elven ruin like the ones south of the Dalish camp, or at least the signs and pieces of one. There was something that exhilarated her about wandering through ancient elven history, trying to decipher the hows and whys of construction. Solas’s Fade travels were immensely useful for this - he often had a story or memory from the location that shed light on what had originally happened there.

Fen’Falon decided that she would cross back through the Plains when they were finished with Adamant to see about helping the Citadel and to explore what lay beyond the Fen’Harel statue’s tunnel. In the meantime, however, she got everyone mounted up with the soldiers surrounding them like an honour guard. Trying to talk the Captain out of that had been a mess and eventually Fen’Falon had thrown up her hands and given in.

They arrived at Adamant three days later after some tortuous winding through ravines and along cliffs near the Western Approach. Cullen had the Inquisition’s forces camped in groups by some metric that Fen’Falon assumed made sense. The siege equipment was massive and growing more so as the soldiers added height to aid them in getting over the walls of the fortress. Iron-shrouded siege ladders were piled near the groups of soldiers, wicked hooks and spikes attached to the sides that would be falling into the defending walls. Fen’Falon had never seen such a gathering in her life.

Adamant Fortress itself was built along similar lines to Griffon Wing Keep, but with less modern details. Crenellations along the top granted cover to the defenders while allowing them to shoot arrows out, and the battlements occasionally rose up into towers for the longer-range archers to shoot from. From the outside at least, the Fortress’s insides were hidden by the outer walls - an older design, according to Cullen, but to Fen’Falon it seemed dead useful. With the internal areas covered by the walls, it would be harder to hit the main body of the Fortress. Cullen had assured Fen’Falon back at Skyhold that their siege equipment would be able to get her and her core group the opening they needed to find and stop Erimond once inside the keep.

Fen’Falon prayed to Elgar’nan and Mythal in earnest that night as she drifted off to sleep, hoping beyond reason that the Inquisition would be successful on the morrow. It had taken some undignified begging on her part to convince Solas to stay in her tent that night; she fell asleep wrapped in his arms, their bodies pressed against each other, secure in the knowledge that at least she had Solas to be her rock.

 


	47. The Siege of Adamant

The sun that day rose a bloody red against the sand-filled sky. An eerie green glow - like that of the Fade rifts - could just barely been seen against the edge of the battlements, testament to Erimond’s progress with the Wardens. With the dawn came the war horns, sounding loud and clear across the sand. Fen’Falon and Solas woke with the horns, each helping the other to get their armour in place for the coming battle.

“Do you really think we can do this, _ma_ _fen_?” Fen’Falon asked.

“You are full of surprises, _vhenan_. I do not doubt your ability to see this through. We also have Lady Hawke to help us,” said Solas. He rested a hand on Fen’Falon’s shoulder, easing her worries for the moment, then kissed her soundly. Fen’Falon noticed that he did not mention Warden Stroud - she knew Solas took issue with the Wardens, another thing she would one day get answers from him about.

Cullen’s men sounded the horns again, signalling the start of the attack against Adamant Fortress. With cries of “For the Inquisition!” and “For the Herald!”, the soldiers ran forwards with siege ladders. The sounds of metal hitting metal, punctuated by the occasional cry of pain and sizzle of magic, filled the early morning air. With the way to the gates clearing by the minute, a gesture from Cullen brought the battering ram forwards.

Fen’Falon hadn’t realised that siege equipment could also be art - until she saw the ram. It had all the necessary pieces: the frame to hold the tree trunk, the wheels for movement, the handles so the soldiers could throw the ram. The art came at the front of the ram. Instead of a plain cone of metal, or even a bar, the ram’s head had been shaped like a clenched fist. The fist held a spiked half-circle of metal that was as thick as Fen’Falon’s head was wide, with spikes as long as her legs. As Fen’Falon studied the device, she realised that the fist of the battering ram was fashioned after the symbol that Cullen used on the War Table to represent his forces and their movements. She spent a moment wondering how long it had taken to bend the metal for the ram, but was jolted from her thoughts when the horns blew a staccato series of notes.

The signal for her personal advance. Fen’Falon, Dorian, and Solas all walked underneath the armour plates covering the battering ram while the Iron Bull pretended to be part of the rank-and-file escorting the device. When the group reached the gates, the three mages and Bull took shelter from the thrown rocks and arrows under the battlements above the gates. A call from the Lieutenant in charge of the ram had his men pulling back on it. A second call and the ram thrust forwards, the fist of the Inquisition impacted the gates to leave a small dent in the metal edging. A third call, as Commander Cullen caught up to the group, and a larger dent. Fourth, fifth, and finally the gates bowed inwards to allow access to the keep.

Inquisition soldiers took the first advance, cutting their way through the Warden warriors and dual-wielders. The way in front cleared for the moment, and the Wardens on the battlements occupied by the sappers, Cullen approached Fen’Falon and her friends.

“All right, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “You have your way in.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Fen’Falon replied.

“We’ll keep the Wardens and their demons occupied for as long as we can. Warden Stroud will have your back.”

“I know what to do, Cullen. Get to Erimond and the Warden Commander.” Fen’Falon looked grim and determined, ready to face the horde inside the keep.

“Hawke is already up on the battlements, helping our soldiers. Rendezvous with her on your way through.”

Fen’Falon gave Cullen a mock-salute. “Got it, Commander! Team, let’s get moving, we’ve only got limited time before Erimond manages to finish his corruption and the damn Anchor is itching already.”

“If we must,” Dorian complained.

Fen’Falon grinned at Dorian and shooed him onwards with her hands. She followed behind with Solas while Iron Bull led them up the stairs and onto the battlements - the only visible path to reach the center of the keep and their quarry.

The group battled their way across the walls, helping Inquisition soldiers gain footholds in the process. As they got closer to the inner keep, the demons bound by Warden mages became more powerful, upgrading to Rage and Pride from mere Shades. Mostly rage demons, to Fen’Falon’s relief - the larger pride demons were a pain in the ass to banish or slay and opening sucking rifts into the Fade could only be done so often without causing the elf massive migraines.

After dispatching a pair of pride demons that had made their way up onto the battlements, Fen’Falon led her friends down another set of stairs and into a minor courtyard. Within, Wardens battled each other, making it clear that not all of the Grey Wardens agreed with what the Warden-Commander was doing. Fen’Falon, Dorian, Iron Bull, and Solas helped defeat the Warden mages and their demons and Fen’Falon addressed the remaining warriors.

“Wardens!” she cried out. “I don’t want to kill you - and it’s clear that you don’t all agree with your Commander. Here is my offer: stay out of the way, do not fight the Inquisition, and you will be spared your brethren’s fates. Do you accept?”

A Sergeant, or perhaps even Lieutenant by the way he held himself, stepped forwards. “We accept your terms, Inquisitor.”

“Excellent,” Fen’Falon said. “Now, quickest way to where your Warden-Commander is?”

“Warden-Commander Clarel is through that gate, a left, out onto the battlements, a right, and through two wooden doors.”

“Thank you, Warden.” Fen’Falon nodded to the officer and returned to the others. Solas was smirking slightly - was he enjoying the battle, or just the view of her taking charge of others, she wondered. Dorian looked impressed while Iron Bull kept an eye out for more demons and shades. Fen’Falon couldn’t tell precisely, but she would bet an Orlesian hat that Warden Stroud was pleased with her decision to spare the Wardens against this mad plan of theirs.

The directions given were simple enough to follow and they picked up Hawke as they ran across the battlements on the way. The group of six burst through the final door just as a woman with a shorn head slit the throat of a second Warden. Magister Erimond stood nearby, his white outfit just as immaculate as it had been in the tower on the Approach. They weren’t close enough to hear what was being said, but now was the time for the interruption.

“Warden-Commander Clarel, you are being tricked!” Fen’Falon pitched her voice to carry across the bailey, glad for once for the lessons prior to Halamshiral. Clarel stopped in her tracks, the Wardens below all turned to look at the Inquisitor, and Erimond sneered at Fen’Falon before he turned to Clarel.

“Don’t let them interrupt the ritual,” Clarel yelled out. Fen’Falon tried to think of another way to reach the Warden-Commander.

“Clarel,” Fen’Falon said. “You will summon this demon for him and then he will _bind_ you!”

Erimond stepped forwards and spoke to both Clarel and the assembled Wardens. “Ah, yes, everyone in the room knows that I will bind a demon to Clarel. And yes, it involves blood magic. Hate me for that if you must, but do not hate the Wardens for doing their duty.”

“We make the sacrifices no one else will,” Clarel said. “Our warriors die for a world that will never thank them.”

“And then your Tevinter ally binds the mages to Corypheus,” Stroud finished for her. Clarel looked shocked at that.

“Corypheus?” she said. “But I thought Corypheus was dead…”

Erimond put a hand on Clarel’s shoulder. “These people will say anything to shake you, Clarel.”

Clarel’s face grew more serious. “Bring it through,” she called out. The Wardens in the yard pushed more power into the ritual, and Fen’Falon could feel an answering twinge from the Anchor. A rift slowly twisted open in the center of the Warden mages - Fen’Falon could not allow this new demon out.

“This isn’t worth the cost,” Hawke called out.

“Don’t do this,” Stroud said as well. “I trained more than half of you myself.”

“I spared those of you who were against this earlier. I know some of you can recognise the trap you now find yourselves in,” Fen’Falon added.

One of the Wardens closest to her looked thoughtful, then spoke. “My friends did the ritual and now they act like puppets on strings.”

“Erimond’s master is Corypheus - a darkspawn magister! He seeks only to corrupt you,” Stroud said.

Clarel turned to Erimond. “Perhaps we can test the truth of these charges, avoid more bloodshed.”

“Or perhaps I should bring in a more reliable ally,” countered Erimond. Clarel backed away from him as the magister slammed the end of his staff against the ground three times. Each time it made contact with the stones, the telltale red glow of red lyrium flared briefly from it. On the third strike, a deathly screech was heard. Somehow Erimond had summoned Corypheus’s pet archdaemon.


	48. Take the Leap

The Wardens all looked up and behind Fen’Falon and Clarel turned to see the source of the noise. Everyone took a few steps back from their current positions and Clarel jolted Erimond with a bolt of lightning. The archdaemon alighted from its perch on one of the towers and flew over the courtyard, spewing red lyrium fire into the Wardens. Lyrium grew briefly then shattered from the heat of the dragon fire, the sound of breaking crystal spurring the gathered people from their shock.

Now able to think clearly, the gathered Wardens turned up towards Clarel and Erimond. The Tevinter Magister used a line of the dragon’s lyrium fire to put distance between himself and Clarel and ran for the battlements.

“Help the Inquisitor,” Clarel shouted before she ran off after the Tevinter. Her plea was just in time, for the rift the Warden mages had been holding destablized and twisted violently into a brighter shade of green. Fen’Falon’s Anchor flared in response and sent icy tingling shooting up her left arm.

“Solas, lend me your help,” Fen’Falon said. She felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder and pulled, drawing his own magic into herself.

“I will lend mine as well,” Dorian said. Dorian laid a hand on Fen’Falon’s other shoulder, the sleek and honey magic flowing into her. The Anchor flared in joyous answer as she fed their combined power into it. Solas’s magic felt more primal than ever, more feral, and much more powerful than it had all those months ago at Haven. Fen’Falon flung her hand towards the new-formed rift and exerted her will to snap it shut even before the demon could fully materialise. The Wardens whose power had opened the rift were flung back, some knocked unconscious as they slammed into crates or flagstones.

A scattered handful of shades and wisps had managed to sneak through before Fen’Falon had closed the rift and they found themselves battling to escape the creatures. The priority was stopping Erimond - if he managed to escape and find another group to raise the army with, the Inquisition’s victory here at Adamant would be for nothing. The Wardens’ sacrifice would be for nothing.

The courtyard cleared of creatures and spell residue and Fen’Falon was off, running after Clarel and Erimond with the others trailing behind her. Up stairs, around a corner, through a room, dodge the lyrium fire thrown at them by the archdaemon and oh shit demons. Fen’Falon tore into the demons with her Fadeblade, relying on Solas’s barriers and Dorian’s fire to keep the demons from gutting her. Hawke was a blur of daggers and it was a very short length of time later they all stood covered in demon blood and bits.

“Well that was bracing,” Dorian commented. “Shall we push forward?”

Fen’Falon smiled faintly. “Yes, let’s get to Erimond. He can’t escape again.”

They ran up the battlements, following the trail of destroyed demons, frozen Wardens, and the sound of lightning magic. They caught up to Clarel and Erimond on an upper walkway that had been shattered by Cullen’s trebuchets.

“You!” Clarel shouted as she advanced on Magister Erimond. “You’ve destroyed the Grey Wardens!”

Erimond backed away from her and was struck down by a blast of lightning. Clarel maneuvered around to block him from jumping off the ledge, blasting him again with lightning to keep him down.

Erimond laughed at the Warden-Commander. “You did that to yourself, you stupid bitch.”

Fen’Falon made as if to intervene but was stopped by Stroud. “Not yet, Inquisitor. Interfering now could see both flung over the edge.”

Fen’Falon snarled at Stroud, unhappy to acknowledge that he was likely reading the situation correctly.

Erimond pushed himself to his hands and knees. His white armor was finally marred, blood and burn marks scorched along the leather and metal. “All I did was dangle a little power before your eyes. And you couldn’t _wait_ to get your hands bloody.”

The Warden-Commander raised her staff and flicked the base towards Erimond. Lightning flared and the magister was thrown farther towards Fen’Falon and her group. Erimond curled into a fetal ball and twitched spasmodically, electrocuted by the wave of lightning.

“You could have served a new god,” Erimond said.

“I will _never_ serve the blight!” Clarel shouted. Clarel advanced on the magister, her face displaying fury for all to see. Just as she raised her staff for the final blow, the archdaemon flew to the walkway and snapped Clarel up in its jaws. The blighted creature jumped to the top of a tower and dropped the Warden-Commander unceremoniously back onto the walkway. Wardens were truly made of stronger stuff, Fen’Falon thought as Clarel got back to her feet.

The archdaemon padded down to the walkway - it likely sensed the kill ready to happen. The first claw touched stone and the walkway shuddered, sending Clarel flat on her back. Fen’Falon and the others backed away from the archdaemon and ended up opposite it, with Clarel on the ground in the middle. Clarel crawled forwards, trying to reach the Inquisitor. As the Warden-Commander crawled, she spoke, though Fen’Falon couldn’t make out the words. The intent however, was clear. Wardens existed to kill archdaemons - Clarel was going to try to slay the beast.

Lightning crackled around Clarel’s hands even as the dragon padded over the woman to advance on Fen’Falon and the others. The Inquisitor backed away from the archdaemon and checked behind her - the were nearly at the edge of the walkway now. No escape.

As the archdaemon gathered itself to leap onto the Inquisitor, Clarel struck. Lightning rippled along the flanks and caught the creature mid-jump to send it crashing into the walkway. Fen’Falon and the others scattered towards the crenelations and the dragon slid between them. It scrabbled at the walkway, pulling stone and mortar apart in an effort to regain a foothold. Fen’Falon and her companions were thrown to the ground and struggled to stand. The already-damaged walkway couldn’t take the weight of an archdaemon and began to crumble.

The archdaemon fell, unbalanced at first, but it soon regained control and flew off. Fen’Falon wished she had the power to strike the fell beast down before it could return to Corypheus. There were more pressing matters to attend to, however, such as their impending fall into the Abyss which Adamant was set to guard against. Fen’Falon regained her feet and pulled Stroud to his so they could run for the safety of the battlements. Solas, Dorian, Iron Bull, and Hawke fell into step with her, running for their lives.

They weren’t fast enough. The walkway crumbled underneath their feet and Fen’Falon found herself trying to run up a part of the walkway that was no longer connected to the main sections. Her friends fell around her and she could feel Dorian and Solas’s magics trying to brace themselves against the inevitable landing. A strange sort of clarity stole over Fen’Falon, her rational mind divorced from the terror of falling to her death. As long as they didn’t hit the ground, they might yet be saved.

Fen’Falon poured her mana into the Anchor and twisted with all her will. Eerie green light surrounded her left hand and grew to envelop her whole body before a beam shot out towards the sandy ground beneath. A rift opened to swallow her companions and the crumbled stone of Adamant. Fen’Falon fell through last, twisting the rift shut behind her, praying to Mythal for protection, for salvation.

 


	49. Justinia

She fell up towards the jutting spires of rock, towards unrelenting ground. Muted vibrant green glowed around her, reflecting off suspended pools of water and wet rock. Fen’Falon scrunched her eyes shut, bracing herself for the impact.

There was none. Her internal sense of up and down righted itself as she hung just inches from the ground, then she dropped feather-light onto the earth. She looked around for her allies and companions to find Hawke standing sideways on a pillar of rock, Stroud on a similar spire opposite the Champion. Solas, Dorian, and a very unhappy-looking Iron Bull stood a ways behind Fen’Falon, but at least they were on the same plane as her.

The light shifted as Fen’Falon eyed their surroundings, shifting from green to golden as they group settled more firmly in...wherever they were.

“We were falling,” Stroud commented.

“Where _are_ we? Are we dead?” said Hawke.

Solas came up behind Fen’Falon and placed a hand on her shoulder, directing her view to match his own. They looked up - into the ‘sky’, for lack of a better reference - to see a swirling mass of clouds glowing the same eerie green as the breach back in Haven. Except in the center of this mass there was a blackness. From a farther distance, or to those not blessed with the sharp eyesight of the elves, it might appear to be a floating jagged chunk of rock.

“No,” Solas said. “This is the Fade.” Fen’Falon grinned to hear the undisguised excitement and wonder in Solas’s voice. “The Inquisitor opened a rift. We came through...and survived. I never thought I would find myself here physically. Look. The Black City. Almost close enough to touch.”

Fen’Falon shared in her love’s wonder. “This is incredible,” she said.

“This is unprecedented,” said Dorian. “Fen, you realise you have just performed a feat unmatched since the beginnings of the Blight?”

“The stories say you did this at Haven,” Hawke said. “At the conclave.”

“So I’m told,” Fen’Falon replied. “But I don’t remember it.”

“It will be interesting to discover what manner of spirit commands this place,” said Solas. “I have never been anywhere like it.”

“This isn’t how I remember the Fade either,” Hawke said. Hawke had been in the Fade? Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes in thought.

“I thought you weren’t a mage, Hawke?” Fen’Falon asked.

“I’m not. Suffice to say I ended up having to save a somniari from becoming an abomination while I was in Kirkwall.”

“Ah,” Fen’Falon understood now. Dreamers were rumoured to be able to pull others into the dreaming Fade, to walk it at will and shape it to their whims. Solas was the first Dreamer Fen’Falon had ever met.

“Regardless,” Stroud said, “we can’t assume we’re safe now. We need to get back.”

“There was that huge demon on the other side of Erimond’s rift at Adamant. We’re close enough that there could be others,” Hawke said.

“In our world the rift was nearby,” said Stroud. “In the main hall. Would it be possible to leave that way?”

“It’s worth a shot at the very least,” Fen’Falon said. She looked up at the Black City and wondered what truth there was to stories of Tevinter Magisters creating the Black City. Was it possible to visit the Black City in dreams? She couldn’t remember if her Keeper had ever talked about such a thing.

Hawke and Stroud gingerly walked down the spires they stood on until they could reach the ground. Fen’Falon looked behind her, checking for a path to take. There was only one way - forward. Somehow they had landed in a dead end, or been placed in one by whatever was controlling this area.

“You must be enjoying yourself, Solas,” the Iron Bull commented as they walked. “This must be like a dream come true for you.”

“It is, Bull,” Solas said. “More than you could imagine. To walk the Fade physically…”

Fen’Falon smiled and brushed her hand against Solas’s hand briefly. She led the ragtag group on the path, her head turning from side to side as she tried to take in everything at once.

Jagged spires of rock jutted up from the ground, and here and there were pieces of memories. A set of half-melted candles, flames flickering in unseen wind. A page of a journal where someone had written about being afraid of the dark. A child’s stuffed toy that looked so out of place settled between two small bits of rock and halfway into a puddle. More worrisome to Fen’Falon were the hints of red lyrium that dotted the landscape. Did grow here in the Fade or was this just memories of the toxic material?

The group came around a bend to see an older woman dressed in very fancy Chantry robes - Divine Justinia. Or more likely a spirit wearing the Divine’s likeness. According to Solas, Fen’Falon had survived her jaunt into the Fade the first time by grace of the Anchor. Justinia had no such ties.

“I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” Justinia said.

“Divine Justinia, I presume,” Fen’Falon said. “At Haven...you died. How are you here?”

“It likely a spirit,” Solas said. “It uses her face because it is familiar to us, as Haven was familiar to you, _vhenan_.”

“Makes sense.”

“You think my survival impossible,” Justinia said, “Yet here you stand in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have.”

“Definitely a spirit,” Fen’Falon muttered. “But at least it seems friendly.”

“I am here to help,” said the Divine. “You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor.”

“That cinches it. She is a spirit. How else could you know my title?”

“I know because I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the demon that serves Corypheus.” Justinia paused and Fen’Falon wondered if that demon was the spirit that had control of this section of the Fade. “It is the Nightmare you forget on waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

“I would gladly avenge the insult this Nightmare dealt my brethren,” Stroud said. Fen’Falon shot him a look that she could only hope conveyed her intent - stop talking. It was in their best interests to keep the spirit talking as long as possible. The more they knew about Corypheus’s plans, about this part of the Fade, the better.

“You will have your chance, brave Warden,” the spirit said. “This place of darkness is its lair.”

“ _Fenedhis_ ,” Fen’Falon said. “Out of sight and into the jaws, it seems.”

“All is not lost, Inquisitor. When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took a part of you. Before you do anything else, you must recover it.”

“Joy.”

The spirit shaped like Justinia gestured along the path ahead, littered with wraiths. “Your memories lie scattered within, Inquisitor.”

“Sorry, you mean the wraiths?”

“Let’s hope not,” Dorian said.

The spirit didn’t answer, instead moving itself to safety as the wraiths attacked. Fen’Falon had a sinking feeling that the wraiths were in fact spawned from her stolen memories. Iron Bull’s greatsword distracted the creatures as the three mages peppered the wraiths with spells until they had all dissipated. As they faded away, the wraiths left behind small glowing balls of greenish light - Fen’Falon’s memories.

Fen’Falon approached one of the glows and felt a ripple of tingles from the Anchor in her hand. The mage thought for a moment, then pushed power through the Anchor towards the ball. The ball dissolves, streaming into Fen’Falon through the Anchor. Fragmented voices echoed in her head, a mirror to the scene that had played out nearly six months ago at Haven when she sealed the breach. The same held true for two more of the glowing balls left by the wraiths.

As Fen’Falon tugged on the final memory ball, it crashed into her and the memory was whole once more. She saw the Divine being held in the air with magic wielded by Gray Wardens, Corypheus’s use of the orb to drain Justinia’s life force, and herself picking up the orb, bonding the Anchor to herself unknowingly. The agony of the bonding raged through Fen’Falon once more, the feeling of don’t-come-near-me-don’t-hurt-her that had spawned an outburst from the orb she had held in her hands.

Her mind cleared and she saw the others looking at her. “What?” she asked.

“So your mark did not come from Andraste. It came from the orb Corypheus used in his ritual,” Stroud said.

“I had a feeling that was the case, Stroud,” said Fen’Falon. “Does it matter?”

Stroud didn’t respond.

“You must regain all that the demon took from you in order to escape the Fade,” said the Justinia spirit. The spirit faded into a glowing gold form and floated forwards, lighting the path they would need to take to reach the rift inside Adamant Fortress.

 


	50. Dirth Ma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50 chapters, ~73k words. Holy shit. Never did I think I'd write this much about my Inquisitor - about anything really. Thank you all for sticking with it - reading comments and getting the little notifications about kudos really makes my day ^_^
> 
> There is no translation for the Elven present in the chapter - Fen'Falon is our narrator here, so if she doesn't know it, we don't know it. All words used can be found on the Dragon Age wiki.

At first the Nightmare had thrown generic fears at them - spiders, dead loved ones (fighting a walking-corpse simulacrum of Solas had been painful), and whatever it was that Iron Bull saw when he’d commented that he preferred the spiders. As the Inquisitor and her allies moved closer to the rift, the Nightmare grew bolder, tailoring fears and words to cut them down.

“The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions,” the Nightmare said of Iron Bull. “Or perhaps I will ride his body myself.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Iron Bull said. Fen’Falon flashed him a grin. As long as they didn’t let it get to them, the Nightmare had no power to harm them. Beyond the obvious.

“Greetings Dorian,” the Nightmare tried some time later. Or perhaps it was only moments - time was funny in the Fade. “It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father.”

“That’s rather uncalled for, don’t you think?” said Dorian in response.

“Like you could ever be anything like that overbearing idiot,” Fen’Falon told her Tevinter friend. They smiled at each other, recalling long talks in the library and around Skyhold about their pasts.

“ _Dirth ma_ , _harellan_ ,” the Nightmare said last. Fen’Falon took a moment to realise the words were meant for Solas. “ _Ma banal enasalin_. _Mar Solas ena mar din_.”

Fen’Falon looked at Solas with concern - did he truly understand what was being said? Fen’Falon had never heard so much of the old tongue at once, spoken so fluently. The demon called him _harellan_ , but whether it meant trickster or traitor was impossible for the young elf to decipher.

“ _Banal nadas_ ,” Solas replied.

“ _Harellan na vhenan tu numin_ ,” the demon said. Solas’s face betrayed a moment of anger.

“No,” said Solas. Fen’Falon was truly concerned now - what was the demon saying to provoke such a response? She knew _harellan_ and _vhenan_ , but the other words escaped her. Now was not the time for linguistic puzzles, though. Returning to the Inquisition forces in Adamant was the top priority.

Hawke and Stroud bickered about the Grey Warden’s complicity in Divine Justinia’s death as the group plunged forward through the path.

“This is clearly a very powerful fear demon,” Solas said. “Apart from perhaps desire, I would guess fear to be one of the oldest emotions. We must tread carefully.”

His voice was steady, but Fen’Falon could tell that the Nightmare’s words had affected him in some way. She made a mental note to ask Solas about it when they returned from the Fade, if it was possible.

As they traveled, Fen’Falon took note of the other objects that had found their way into this demon’s realm. A book floated in midair, roughly as high as her head, touching nothing. They passed a scholar’s desk covered in paper and books, the scholar’s quill laid down across a half-written letter, yet no ink covered the page. Fen’Falon bent to pick up a tarot card - the Tower, its image distorted until it was almost unrecognisable. She put it back when a feeling of dread crept over her.

The spirit, or Justinia, or a memory of the Divine waited ahead of them. “The last pieces are here, Inquisitor,” she said.

Fen’Falon looked out at the area. Rock spires poked up from within stagnant pools of mystery liquid. No red lyrium, though, for which she was thankful. The stuff gave her the creeps.

“Take back your memories, if you can,” came the Nightmare’s voice. Miniature varterrals crawled out from unseen spaces to attack Fen’Falon and her allies. When the slaughter was over, more of the glowing memory balls floated in the area.

Fen’Falon reclaimed the last of the memory pieces and was shown her escape from the Fade at Haven. The desperate climb up steep stairs, pursued by spiders and other nameless horrors. Justinia’s hand reaching to help the Dalish elf up those final few feet, pulling her up to the ledge where the rift into Haven sat. The approach of the creatures, Justinia practically pushing her through the rift even as Fen’Falon tried to pull the Divine through after her. Watching as the Divine was dragged down by the creatures, lost to sight just before Fen’Falon threw herself out of the Fade.

“It was the Divine who helped me out of the Fade,” Fen’Falon said. “Not Andraste. And then you...and then she died.”

The Divine nodded solemnly. “Yes,” she said.

“So this is simply a spirit,” Stroud said.

“That wasn’t obvious from the beginning?” Hawke mocked Stroud.

“I am sorry if I disappoint you,” said the spirit. It began to glow golden, turning into a being of pure energy, warm and bright. Fen’Falon had never seen such a spirit before and wondered what it was meant to represent.

“So the mortal Divine perished at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, no thanks to the Grey Wardens,” said Hawke.

“How dare you judge us?” Stroud said. “Those Wardens were under the control of Corypheus!”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Hawke replied. Fen’Falon placed her marked hand between the bickering allies.

“Stop it, both of you. The Wardens aren’t blameless, but we have more pressing things to deal with.”

“Inquisitor…” Stroud started. Fen’Falon shook her head sharply. The golden spirit was moving forwards rapidly.

“We need to get to the rift,” Fen’Falon. Spiders crawled over and from under rocks only to be electrocuted or flash-fried or frozen by mage spells, and then struck into pieces by Iron Bull’s greatsword. The two pride demons that materialised shortly after were more of a problem. Fen’Falon found herself using her Fadeblade nonstop, as the pride demons were immune to her preferred lightning attacks. Solas and Dorian served as field control, freezing the demons and trapping them between walls of fire so that Fen’Falon and Iron Bull could cut them to shreds. Avoiding the demons’ whips of lightning was a display of dexterity on everyone’s parts, but eventually Pride was cut down.

The way to the Nightmare, to the rift home, was finally clear. The golden spirit waited for the group at the other end of a cave half-filled with water, the bright glow serving as a beacon for Fen’Falon to follow.

“You must get through the rift, Inquisitor,” the spirit said. “You must get through and then slam it shut with all your strength. That will banish the army of demons, and exile this cursed creature to the farthest reaches of the Fade.”

“Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” Fen’Falon said. “Onwards?” she asked the group. They all either nodded or murmured their assent, and she pressed them forwards.

They came into a large cleared area with stairs leading downwards. The Nightmare’s lair. On the far side Fen’Falon saw the Nightmare itself, a bloated creature the size of a mountain. It was shaped vaguely like a spider, but had more legs than it ought to, and blinking black eyes covered every bit of hide that Fen’Falon could see. Spider’s mandibles jutted forwards where the mouth would be, but behind that were what appeared to be tentacles, or perhaps jellyfish stings. Within, Fen’Falon caught glimpses of what she would later describe as shark teeth. Nightmare indeed.

The golden spirit dove at the Nightmare which turned to pursue the spirit, leaving the way to the rift clear for the group. A scattered few fear spiders were quickly dispatched and Fen’Falon ran for the rift, willing it into a people-sized doorway. Iron Bull went through first, likely eager to leave a place warriors had no business being. Dorian followed close behind the Bull, leaping through the rift to the other side. Solas and Fen’Falon shared a meaningful look before he too stepped through the rift, words unsaid between the lovers. Only Hawke and Stroud remained having lagged behind the others.

“Come on!” Fen’Falon shouted. Speaking was a mistake - the Nightmare returned to its lair having driven off the gold spirit. The mouth of tentacles blocked Hawke and Stroud’s path to the rift.

“Go,” Hawke said. “The Wardens will need you to rebuild.”

Stroud shook his head. “Let me stay. Perhaps in this, the Wardens came be redeemed in some small part.”

Fen’Falon could see that they were about to start arguing again. “Hawke, come on! The world needs Kirkwall’s Champion more than it needs another Warden!”

Hawke’s lips twisted into a grim sort of smile and she ran forwards. Stroud slashed at the Nightmare’s underside and cleared a way for Hawke. The two women clasped hands and jumped through the rift, Fen’Falon glancing back just in time to see Stroud brought down by the Nightmare’s terrible mouth.

They landed in the courtyard of Adamant Fortress, surrounded by friends and Grey Wardens.

 


	51. Tel'Halani

Fen’Falon had not expected to be glad to leave the Fade. Solas was surely disappointed on some level, but being away from the Nightmare could only be a good thing. Fen’Falon flexed her left hand into a fist and forced her will on the rift, closing it without even a backward glance. A quick check confirmed that everyone had made it safely from the Fade, save for Warden Stroud.

“Where is Stroud?” one of the remaining Wardens asked. Fen’Falon and Hawke shared a glance, unspoken words determining who would be the bearer of bad news.

“Stroud...didn’t make it,” said Hawke.

“What are we supposed to do now? We have no one of any significant rank left in the Wardens.”

Fen’Falon knew exactly what the Grey Wardens could do. “For your part in the death of the Divine,” she said, “and your misguided attempt to raise a demon army, I hereby exile the Grey Wardens from all of southern Thedas. You can return to Weisshaupt and regroup there.”

“I’ll go with them,” Hawke said. “I have some things to check up on there anyway.”

The Inquisitor nodded and walked away from the Wardens. Inquisition members who hadn’t been with her for the assault had found their way into the courtyard while the group was in the Fade and looked relieved to see everyone back whole and hale. Fen’Falon would have to deal with Blackwall when she got back to Skyhold.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen called out. “Thank the Maker you’re back.”

“We were worried when we heard you had fallen into a rift,” Cassandra said.

“Well,” said Fen’Falon, “as you can see, we made it back with no injuries to speak of. And I think we’d all rather not speak of it for now, anyways.” Fen’Falon looked back at her friends.

“We should return to Skyhold to plan our next moves,” Cullen said.

“Sounds wonderful,” Fen’Falon replied.

* * *

 

The caravan trains of Inquisition soldiers and weapons rumbled through the Exalted Plains, dropping food, supplies, and the Inquisitor’s group off in the Plains. Fen’Falon was pleased to see that the ramparts remained clear, and the Orlesians appeared to be packing up to go home now that the civil war was over.

While she had been busy with Adamant, the soldiers she had left behind had managed to complete their tasks as well. The bridge over to the Citadel had been repaired, and as Fen’Falon looked across the river it seemed as though there were still some of the restless dead that needed putting down.

“Dorian,” she called, “looks like you’re still useful!”

“Oh, to be useful once more, my darling Inquisitor,” said Dorian. “What am I to be used for this time?”

Fen’Falon smiled for the first time since the Fade, matching the silly look Dorian had plastered onto his face. She pointed across the river and let the undead speak for themselves.

“Well at least this won’t be boring,” Dorian said.

“Shall we?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Let’s.”

The Iron Bull and Solas followed the other two mages across the bridge. The four were immediately set upon by the undead, but after Adamant, destroying the corpses felt almost like shooting nugs. Just without the cute noises. The mages burned and frosted their way through the undead and Iron Bull cleaned up by beheading the frozen ones. The battlements outside the Citadel were crawling with undead.

An arcane horror served as an unwelcome surprise that guarded the bone pit being used to raise the dead.

“Solas!” Fen’Falon said.

“On it, _vhenan_ ,” replied Solas. He froze the arcane horror in place, making it easier for the others to lay down their own spells, and for Bull to ready his weapon. Fen’Falon conjured her Fadeblade and was surprised to see that it felt more real than before - the weight was still light, but it now behaved more like a true sword. She made a mental note to ask Vivienne or the other Knight-Enchanter what the source cause could possibly be. Time to think about that after they had dealt with this rather persistent problem.

Fen’Falon and Iron Bull attacked the frozen horror together, their blades shattering the unfortunate creature like it was made from glass. A summoned fireball served to burn the bone pit and the group stood in silence, watching to ensure the burn was complete.

“That ought to stop the blasted things,” said Dorian.

“Creators, I hope so. I thought I hated undead the last time we came through, but now….now there is a burning desire to unmake all of them,” Fen’Falon said.

“Not all of them, I hope,” said Dorian. “I do need some, after all.”

“Fine, fine. Only Dorian - most handsome and strongest of the necromancers - is allowed to have undead servants.” Fen’Falon made a rude gesture that was returned by Dorian even as they laughed. Dorian was always good for a laugh these days, much to Fen’Falon’s delight. Laughter ceased when they saw a corpse shamble out of the gate in the walls of the Citadel.

“Aw, shit, really?” Fen’Falon whined. She surged forward, calling her Fadeblade to her hands again, and the others followed. It was just like the day Sera had left - the corpses fell to Fen’Falon’s blade and magic, dismembered and unmade. A thrumming sound filled the air suddenly, followed closely by sounds of fire and the smell of burning straw and flesh. A beam of brightest sunlight, perfectly round and seeming nearly solid, shot across the Citadel courtyard in which they did battle. Fen’Falon pursued the corpses ahead of her, the beam unseen until it was too late for even Bull’s shouted “Watch out!” to help.

Her flesh sizzled, the pale skin reddening as pain bloomed across her exposed arms and neck. Fen’Falon’s entire right side felt aflame and pain she had not felt since touching the Anchor drove her to her knees with eyes held tightly shut. A nearby corpse took the opportunity to slash at the downed elf with its rusted sword and drew blood across the woman’s torso. A cry left Fen’Falon’s lips even as she prayed for someone, anyone to grant her release from the pain.

Fen’Falon felt large arms cradle her and pick her up - Iron Bull, she could only assume, from the size of the arms beneath her. Every step jostled torched skin against clothing and against Bull’s chest and caused Fen’Falon to whimper with pain. She could feel herself drifting off, the pain driving her out of her own mind.

“ _Ma vhenan_!” she heard as if from a distance.

“Solas?” Fen’Falon mumbled. Or tried to. It was hard to tell if she had actually said anything or not.

“ _Ir abelas_ , _ma vhenan_ , _ma da’harellan_. _Ma tel’halani_ , _ir abelas_.” A cool hand engulfed her marked left hand even as she felt herself being set down. Fen’Falon wanted to open her eyes, to see her _vhenan_ and tell him she was alright, but the pain pulsed again as Iron Bull pulled his arms away from her. The lack of pressure against her burnt right side caused it to feel aflame once more, as if the great beam of light had struck a second time. Fen’Falon passed out with the sensation of Solas’s hands against her face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using "tel'halani" here to mean "problem" or "lack of help". Literally it means "not-help".


	52. Citadel Liberation

Solas had to stop himself from growling in anger. Fen’Falon had been struck down by capricious chance - even he would have been hard pressed to guess that the Orlesian Citadel employed an ancient elven weapon. Solas had not thought any of those devices yet remained in the world. This Citadel must have been built over top an older Dalish one from before the conquest, though why they had not removed the device was an intriguing mystery.

The matter at hand was more important than his curious musing, however. Closing the wound the undead had left was easy enough - some elfroot extract to assist in the closing and poultice to stop the bleeding. The angry red-purple burns all down Fen’Falon’s right side, however, required more intense attention. Solas packed elfroot against her skin as Iron Bull and Dorian watched. When their attention was occupied by keeping undead away from the two elves, Solas brought his will to bear on the marks, his godly power easing them away until only a faint pinkness remained.

Healing Fen’Falon’s wounds had not returned her to consciousness, which worried Solas. It had been a very long time since he had needed to deal with injuries this severe - perhaps it was possible that the pain of the waking world had driven Fen’Falon to seek solace in the Fade? The only way to know would be to venture there himself.

“Watch over us,” Solas told Dorian and Iron Bull.

“What for?” said Dorian.

“I need to call her back,” Solas said. “I fear the pain of her injuries may have driven her to seek refuge from it by dreaming in the Fade. If I do not return her to the waking world, we may be stuck here until the morning.”

“I see…Well, I don’t, actually, but if it will fix Fen, then do it.”

Solas nodded. “You do _not_ have permission to die,” he whispered to Fen’Falon, then closed shut his eyes and focused. He fell into a meditative state quickly, a trick borne of centuries, of millennia of practise. Solas entered the Fade with ease, though now that he had been physically present the differences were staggering. Time enough later to do a proper exploration. Solas shifted into his wolf form so as not to draw attention from the residents of the Fade in an area so steeped in unkind magicks.

Finding Fen’Falon was a simple enough matter - Solas had only to focus on the feel of her magic and will himself to its presence. This section of the Fade was already shaping itself to Fen’Falon’s thoughts, becoming a warm northern forest. His vhenan was so young, not more than five or six unless Solas missed his guess. Shouts from up ahead in the forest were heard, the call and response of Dalish hunters on the prowl. Had she followed them out here in her endless curiosity or had one of them brought her with them and asked her to wait behind? Questions for later.

He padded just out of sight of the young Fen’Falon, watching as she wandered the forest and tried to stay close to the hunters. The girl suddenly switched direction and he wondered what new thing had captured her attention. There was nothing ahead in the chosen path save for some boulders and the herbs and plants of the forest floor. Solas followed his young elf for memory-hours as she lost her way and could not return to the hunters, until she grew too exhausted to continue. Only then did he carefully tread forwards, curling himself around the girl protectively.

With that act, the memory vanished, popped like a bubble of soap. Returned to the raw Fade, Solas acted quickly to bring Fen’Falon back to the waking world. He brought his will to bear on Fen’Falon, pushing her out of the Fade and back to her physical body, then followed close on her heels.

Solas stood again just as Fen’Falon opened her eyes, blinking against the strong sunlight of the Plains.

“Oooh, that was nasty. Odd. And nasty,” she said. Solas watched as she ran her left hand down her right side, likely checking for the burns that had been there. He felt his mouth pulled into a tiny smile when a look of wonder crossed Fen’Falon’s face - she marveled at the newly healed pink skin where before there had been only blistering pain.

“Did you do this?” Fen’Falon asked Solas.

“You were in pain, _vhenan_ , your waking mind fleeing the reality of your hurts. I expended no small amount of power to heal you, and then again to bring you back to yourself.”

“Back...to myself?” she was puzzled, then understanding came across her face. “Right, I was remembering being little. And I fell asleep there, and then woke up here.”

“Indeed, my heart. You were in the Fade, your mind having sought refuge in the spirit realm for surcease from your pain.”

“Thank you,” Fen’Falon said quietly. She stood up gingerly and Solas helped her when it seemed as though she might fall. Some part of her was still convinced it was in pain even though Solas had chased it all away, and it made Fen’Falon temporarily clumsy. The beam weapon passed nearby, the force of it causing the wooden shed they had taken shelter in to tremble. Fen’Falon started, then sagged against Solas.

The feel of the woman he loved in his arms made him want to forget everything that he was working towards. Solas turned Fen’Falon towards him and kissed her.

“We have people to save, do we not, _da’harellan_?” he asked.

“Very true. Let’s press forward, gentlemen,” she called out. Fen’Falon almost looked unhappy at the prospect - the healing would have left her tired, but sleep was the worst thing to do in this area, at least until they had cleared it out.

Now alert to the danger the beam weapon posed, the foursome made good time through the Citadel's defenses, frequently managing to trap the undead in the beam’s path. The way to the keep itself was winding, a tight back-and-forth path that led up the cliff into which the keep had been built. Solas thought it likely that the keep was still the original elven fortress, the walls and path around them having been built onto it by the Orlesians.

At the top of the path the gate to the keep was shut and barred - with any luck there would still be living people inside who would be able to open it once the undead problem was dealt with. Near the gate was a mechanism that looked recent - Solas reached out with his power and discovered that it connected to the original elven beam device.

“That mechanism should turn the beam weapon off, Fen’Falon,” he said, pointing to the giant turnstile. Fen’Falon’s eyes followed his fingers and she nodded.

“Got it,” she said. Fen’Falon ran up the ramp to the mechanism, trusting in Solas and Dorian to follow. Iron Bull took up a position at the bottom of the ramp to guard against more undead, though burning the pit should have prevented further ones from rising. The three mages each took a bar of the mechanism and pushed. With a groan the mechanism turned and turned, a great shudder indicating when the elven device had been stopped.

Fen’Falon jumped from the platform and landed lightly on her feet, a pleased grin on her face. When Solas and the others joined her, she knocked on the gates of the keep until someone answered.

“The undead are gone,” Fen’Falon said in response to an unheard question. “And we’ve turned off your stupid weapon mechanism.”

“Oh thank the Maker!” came the cry as the gates were flung open. Inside they could see Orlesian nobles intermingled with the soldiers, the nobles’ servants grouped together into a corner. Solas studied the inside of the keep, pleased to note that he had been correct about its construction. As the nobles and servants streamed out into the sunlit cobbles of the defenses, Fen’Falon spoke with the leader of the soldiers. News of Empress Celene’s victory against Grand Duke Gaspard was passed on and spread like wildfire amongst the nobles, and the soldiers’ leader put in a request for further supplies before the Inquisition group left to return to their camp across the river.

 


	53. Dragon Fens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to a word count for major fantasy books that I found online, this story is now almost as long as Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

Fen’Falon had woken up full of energy and to good news: the last of the boulders had been cleared from the little dell with the wolf statue. The soldiers who had previously been clearing the tunnel now led the way through it. They came on a cleared area with only one or two trees, the entire thing surrounded by cliffs, almost as if it had been purpose-built. As the soldiers busied themselves setting up a camp to act as the forward base for the new area, Fen’Falon took Solas, Dorian, and Iron Bull to explore.

Pieces of ancient elven structures could be seen poking from the ground and the cliff faces, some broken columns and the occasional intact archway. Fen’Falon passed through a natural stone  archway and into another roughly circular area that had perhaps once been a garden. It was filled with trees, though they were stripped bare and seemed charred in places. A large halla statue stood in the precise center of the clearing, almost tall enough for its horns to poke above the tops of the walls.

The whole area felt quiet - too quiet. Fen’Falon began to look for signs of a large predator, one of the easiest reasons for the smaller creatures to be silent or missing. Claw marks along the base of the statue and on the trees meant this was a large predator - certainly not one of the wolves that roamed the Plains. Fen’Falon hoped they wouldn’t run into the creature.

“That almost looks like it ought to be a statue of Ghilan’nain herself,” Fen’Falon commented aloud.

“I would not be surprised,” said Solas. “This area is steeped in ancient magicks. Perhaps there will be more clues to its purpose farther in?”

“Good idea. Dorian, Bull?”

“Count me in,” Dorian said.

“May as well,” replied Iron Bull.

They moved onwards through another elven arch, its pointed peak far above their heads. Broken pottery littered the floor, but whether it was from the time of the structures or more recent, Fen’Falon couldn’t say. The second cleared area had little stone shrines stacked up along the edges, gifts to the dead and Falon’Din. Fen’Falon had not been this close to a shrine since arriving at Haven, and a part of her was glad to see evidence of the Dalish.

“Do not touch the shrines,” she warned the others. “They are sacred to the dead.” Murmured assent served as her answer. They went through another elven archway and came face-to-face with a rift. It was short work to clear away the few demons who had already come through into the area and Fen’Falon closed the rift effortlessly. The power of the Anchor came easier every day, giving Fen’Falon hope that it was past the point of killing her.

With the area made safe, Fen’Falon explored the edges of the clearing. Stone and rock seemed to have partially encased the ancient elven walls, low archways filled by boulders or plants. Up a hill to her left she could see hints of more ruins.

“That way,” Fen’Falon said. “I think there might actually be something up there.”

The others followed her, all of them on alert for any demons they might have missed and for the mystery predator responsible for the claw marks around Ghilan’nain’s statue. They exited the path underneath what had once been ceiling support columns into a sunlit area sparsely populated by more stripped trees. The sight of a large stone hand caught Fen’Falon’s interest and she made for it, curious to see what it was doing there.

The hand was enormous once she got up next to it - the thumb was easily as tall as she was, and even Iron Bull looked small when he stood in the palm of it. The four of them followed a wooden ramp down into what had apparently once been an archaeological dig and Fen’Falon was pleased to see more evidence of ancient elven civilization.

“Solas, look!” Fen’Falon called out, pointing at the large statue of an archer that stood in the center of the room.

“I see, _vhenan_ ,” Solas said. “It appears to be some sort of puzzle mechanism. Perhaps an entrance to a deeper temple?”

Fen’Falon felt a stab of suspicion - how did Solas know that? - but brushed it away, more interested in what lay beyond. The statue was set in the middle of four orbs formed from stone tree branches, each one centered to the edges of the square dais on which they stood. In front of each orb was a statue of Fen’Harel set on a tall column. The statue that the archer faced was set of a height to the archer’s arrow, blocking its shot through one of the orbs. A thorough exploration of the chamber revealed four levers, two blocked by gates, three magelight torches, and a pressure plate that glowed blue when stood on.

“Uh, boss…” Iron Bull said.

“Shush you big lug. I’m trying to figure out what this does,” said Fen’Falon. Maybe ten minutes later she was shouting directions out to the others like “stand there and don’t move” and “pull that lever….now!”. It took some maneuvering to figure out the point of the mechanisms and the timing involved, but eventually they got the archer to fire into each of the orbs, a flash of blue light becoming a ball of magefire inside the orbs. With all four filled, an arched gate on the far side of the room from the entrance lowered into the floor to reveal a carved coffin, inscribed with an entreaty to Falon’Din on the lid. Fen’Falon took out some parchment from the blank book she carried with her and made a charcoal rubbing of the inscription, and told herself she would send it to Keeper Deshanna once back at Skyhold.

With the mystery resolved, Fen’Falon was eager to leave what she now knew to be a catacomb. She hurried the others back up the ramp and into the daylight of the Exalted Plains.

Further exploration along the path led them into a section that greatly resembled the Fallow Mire, much to Fen’Falon’s disgust. Stinking water stood waist deep on her in almost every direction, broken up only by tiny islands and pillars of rock. The occasional charred or clawed up tree made Fen’Falon wonder what the local large predator was, not to mention how close they were to its home.

She wished she had thought to wonder how _many_ of the predators there were when the group was attacked by two wyverns of the gurgut variety. Grey scales made for a tough fight as the oversized lizards blended in with the rocks and the murky water. The fight ended with heavy breathing, two wyvern corpses, and the whole collection standing near a statue that would have been a dog if the head hadn’t fallen off.

Intricate carvings coiled all over the broken dog statue, declaring it to be of Dalish origin. It was far more elaborate than the usual dog statues that the Dalish put up to ward off Fen’Harel and the wolves, but given the age of the surrounding ruins, entirely possible that it was an ancient guardian statue. Fen’Falon ran her hands up and down the carvings - she loved the feel of the ridges and whorls under her fingertips.

“We should keep moving,” Iron Bull said, interrupting her study of the dog.

“You’re probably right,” Fen’Falon replied.

“Well, unless you’d rather become a wyvern’s dinner?” asked Dorian.

Fen’Falon cringed. Wyvern blood stank almost as bad as their shit, and she had no interest in becoming covered in more of the stuff.

“Let’s go deeper. We can always turn back for camp if we need,” Fen’Falon said. They pressed onward through the fens. Here and there were more Dalish shrines, stones stacked into little doorways with a round stone on top. The fens suddenly opened up into a larger but shallower pool of murky water. Around the edges were yellowish-orange growths that looked like calcium deposits save for the colouring. The smell of sulfur washed over the group and Dorian gagged dramatically.

Steam rose from the sulfur pools where they met the fen water and drew Fen’Falon’s attention to a stone bridge. On one side of the bridge was another of the ancient elvhen orbs that Solas said strengthened the Veil - how _had_ he come by that knowledge anyway? - but more immediately of interest were the two statues of Fen’Harel at the far side of the bridge.

They were seated wolves howling to the sky, just as intricately carved from their stones as the broken dog, and situated to either side of a pointed archway. The leftmost statue was black, but the stone was neither onyx nor obsidian. The rightmost statue was whitish, likely carved from the same stone as the archway, bridge and other ruins. The archway looked out onto a rocky wall, but in front of the rocks was what appeared to be a small shrine. Fresh flowers lay in a bowl along with a piece of dried meat.

“Uh, boss…” said Iron Bull.

“Not now.” Fen’Falon continued studying the odd little shrine - who would place offerings to Fen’Harel? Why? The Dread Wolf was reviled by all the Dalish, even as his power was respected. No child of the Dalish would bring such things to Fen’Harel - to Andruil, Ghilan’nain, and even Falon’Din, certainly, but not Fen’Harel.

“Solas, any thoughts on this shrine?” she asked the resident ancient expert.

No response.

“Boss….I think we ought to leave,” Iron Bull said.

Fen’Falon turned to look at the rest of the group. “What’s up?” she asked.

In answer, Dorian pointed farther back into the sulfur pools. A full-grown dragon, easily the height of three human men at the shoulder. Sleeping, thank the Creators. Bright purple clashed with white and yellow striping and was punctuated by what was either a dark purple or black spinal ridges and horns. Sparks came from what must be the dragon’s head as it breathed, following a steady and regular pattern.

Fen’Falon gulped and began running for the way they had come - she had no intention of fighting the creature today. It wasn’t until all four of them had returned to camp that she realised Solas hadn’t answered a single question about the ruins, or the wolves, or that odd little shrine to Fen’Harel.

 


	54. Next Steps

Skyhold felt more drab than it had been. Fen’Falon was sure that it was just the vibrancy of the Fade coupled with the near-death scare she’d had in the Exalted Plains, but it made her a little sad to think of Skyhold as boring. The meeting she had on her return, however, had been anything but boring.

Morrigan had barged into the War Room as if she belonged there, setting Fen’Falon a’bristle. The insufferable apostate had informed everyone that Corypheus was likely after an ancient Eluvian, now that the orb and the demon army were unavailable as means to enter the Fade. Fen’Falon’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the memory. Thankfully Morrigan had left after cryptically inviting Fen’Falon to meet with her soon.

The Inquisition advisors had called a recess so that everyone could get some food down and maybe clean up - Fen’Falon had gone straight for the War Room when she first returned to Skyhold, not even taking the time to have a quick wash or grab a change of clothes. Now that she had the chance, the elven mage thought she had never been so satisfied to have a bath in the underground stream.

Returning to the War Room to discuss their next steps was distinctly not satisfying, by contrast.

“We need to continue pursuing Corypheus,” Cullen said once everyone was inside.

Leliana shook her head. “We can’t. Our forces have barely recovered from Adamant.”

“If we don’t go after him now, he may get this...whatever it is that Morrigan is worried about.”

“Unlikely, after the blow we have dealt him at Adamant Fortress. With the Wardens gone, he has no source for his demon army.”

“Morrigan said--” Cullen’s voice rose.

“Morrigan can’t always be trusted!” Leliana said. Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow at the spymaster - this was news to her.

“You know Morrigan, Leliana?” asked Fen’Falon. The Inquisitor’s quiet words brought the rising argument to a halt.

“Yes,” Leliana replied. “We worked together briefly during the Fifth Blight with the Hero of Fereldan.”

“What can you tell me about her? Morrigan, that is.”

“I do not know much - she was always quiet and secretive with regards to her past. Morrigan is an apostate from the Korcari Wilds, where she lived with her mother -- the Witch of the Wilds. All I can say of Morrigan that is that she and her mother did not have the best relationship. During our travels with the Hero of Fereldan, she told us of a plot by the Witch to take over Morrigan’s body, thus preserving the Witch’s purported youth and allowing her to live forever.”

“So what happened?”

“The Hero agreed to help her, of course. We traveled to the Wilds and found the Witch of the Wilds. Morrigan was sure that if she had her mother’s grimoire, she could find a way to make herself safe, so that is what we had come for. It did not go as planned. The Witch was powerful, transformed into a dragon, and we fought for our lives. In the end, the only way to escape was to kill her.”

“Sounds like a hell of a fight,” Fen’Falon said.

“It was. The point of the matter is that while Morrigan may have been telling the truth about the Witch, she was also aware that we would need to kill the Witch in order to leave. And yet she made it sound like the only thing needed was the book. Morrigan does not always say everything she knows, and frequently lies about even that. We cannot take her at her word.” This last was said with a pointed glance at Cullen, who glowered back at Leliana.

“All right, so we need to look into the Arbor Wilds more before we go haring off after Corypheus.”

“Precisely.”

“My clan has few tales of the Arbor Wilds, but the ones we do have talk of traps and ancient ruins with defensive magicks. With any luck, Corypheus doesn’t know exactly where he needs to go - maybe we can use that?”

“I will send word to our agents, Inquisitor.”

“Cullen, I know you want to go after him now, but I think a break is in order.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” said Cullen. The Inquisition commander didn’t look too please at Fen’Falon’s order, but it seemed as though Adamant had solidified her control over the advisors. That would come in handy later when she needed them to allow her freedoms.

“In the meantime, Cullen, can we work out a plan for getting to the Arbor Wilds without overly alerting Corypheus and his spies?”

“Certainly, my lady. I will get on it immediately.”

“Josephine, Leliana,” Fen’Falon made circular gestures at them, trying to find the right words. “Just...keep doing whatever it is that’s helping us. And keep me in the know.”

“What about you, Inquisitor?”

“I...I have some conversations that need having with the others,” Fen’Falon said. She nodded to each of the advisors and walked out of the War Room.

By ‘others’ she of course meant Solas, who was busy sketching in the events of Adamant to add to the mural in the rotunda. The outline, to Fen’Falon’s untrained eye, looked great, and she was looking forward to seeing what colours this new section would take on and how it would fit into the rest of the finished pieces. And one day she would discover how Solas always seemed to know when she walked into the rotunda.

“Hello,” Solas said. He clambered down the latter of the scaffold to greet her on the floor.

“It has been a very long day,” Fen’Falon told him with a sigh.

“Come then, tell me of your meetings while we relax, _vhenan_.”

“That sounds wonderful, Solas.” Fen’Falon tugged one of Solas’s hands into hers and pulled him behind her to her quarters above the War Room. The pile of blankets was still on the floor from the last time she had managed to sleep at Skyhold, much to her delight, and Fen’Falon collapsed into the cushions with a smile.

She told him the basic rundown of the meeting, including Morrigan’s interruption near the beginning. Solas didn’t interrupt however and seemed content instead to hold his questions for the end of the tale.

Fen’Falon tilted her head at Solas as a thought occurred to her. “Didn’t you say once that you had come across an abandoned hut in the Korcari Wilds, food still on the table? That the local Chasind avoided it, wary of the woman’s return? Leliana mentioned something that sounds like that.”

A look of shock briefly flickered across Solas’s face, almost too fast for Fen’Falon to notice. Over the intervening months since meeting him, Fen’Falon had gotten good at reading his face. Shock was a new one.

“It is possible,” Solas answered after a moment’s hesitation. “But as I have never been there outside of the Fade, I believe that it may not be the same. There are, after all, many people living in the Wilds one would assume. Who is to say the Chasind there do not simply avoid all such huts? They are an insular people, similar to the Dalish in that regard.”

“Hmmmm.” Fen’Falon wasn’t convinced, and she could tell that Solas was trying to distract her with the implied insult to her people. Comparing them to the Chasind! Absurd. Coupled with his odd reticence on the Exalted Plains, Fen’Falon had a great many questions about Solas and how he came by his knowledge. Even for somniari - the Fadewalkers who could shape it to their will - there were limits to what could be done in the Fade. Either he was the most powerful Dreamer since Arlathan, or something else was going on with him.

Exhaustion finally caught up with Fen’Falon, however, and she drifted to sleep nestled against Solas’s chest. She would talk to Morrigan tomorrow about this mystery thing Corypheus wanted.

 

 


	55. Sahrnia Narnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tentatively aiming for weekly updates at this point - life and work are reaching a very busy point these days and I feel bad promising dailies and then not delivering when other things get in the way of writing. Updates will of course happen more frequently if I find more time to write, though. ^_^

Morrigan’s son Kieran was by far the strangest thing that had happened to Fen’Falon in a long time. She had run into the boy while looking for Morrigan - the conversation that resulted had given Fen’Falon more questions than answers. Morrigan herself wasn’t much help either, having conversed with Fen’Falon as if the Inquisitor weren’t a Dalish elf. As if she couldn’t possibly know what an eluvian was.

_“Your blood is very old”_ the boy had said to her. The question then was: was Fen’Falon’s blood “old” because of the Anchor? because she was an elf? because of some as-yet undiscovered history of herself?

Solas would probably be able to make sense of Kieran’s comment, but Fen’Falon was reluctant to talk to him about something like this after his reticence in the Exalted Plains. The eluvian was a bigger concern, anyways. For Morrigan to have traveled with such a large enchanted mirror was absurd, yet the witch had. More importantly, the eluvian presented a very real security risk. Morrigan had assured Fen’Falon that it was essentially locked, but if Morrigan could open it, then others could too. If enemies entered through Morrigan’s eluvian, they would be in the heart of Skyhold with no warning. The thought made Fen’Falon shudder.

Fen’Falon was extremely unhappy to see that Morrigan had invited herself to the War Room meetings for the rest of that week. Together with Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine, plans were made for the path the Inquisition would take to reach the Arbor Wilds, and how the Inquisitor and her companions intended to reach the same area. More than a week of careful planning, taking into account reports from Leliana’s agents that flew in from all over Thedas, and Fen’Falon was anxious to get moving.

The plan was to pass through areas the red templars had been spotted in on her way down to the Wilds. Ideally, the Inquisitor’s group (and their soldiers escorts) would be capable of disrupting the templars’ supply lines and interrupting whatever Corypheus’s other plans in the areas were. Of special note were Emprise du Lion and the Emerald Graves, which together made a fairly straightforward path through to the Arbor Wilds. Fen’Falon was looking forward to seeing the Emerald Graves - there was so much Dalish history there, history that Clan Lavellan had not seen for centuries. Being able to bring that knowledge back to Keeper Deshanna would be a bonus once all this Inquisition business was over.

Thinking about Deshanna had Fen’Falon wondering what the Keeper would think of Solas. He was such an enigma - neither city elf nor Dalish, not Circle trained yet a mage, and far, far too knowledgeable about Dalish history and legends despite that. Fen’Falon made her way to the rotunda tower, intent on asking him for his thoughts on the current plans.

Fen’Falon found Solas painting, adding to the newest part of the mural.  Careful strokes brushed faded green across the wall, a pale representation of the Fade. Fen’Falon spied the Warden heraldry in the bottom left of the new section, already painted to blend with the previous area. The rest of the new piece was sketched out, flecks of paint here and there where colours that Solas had previously painted were added. Fen’Falon watched him paint in silence, not giving away her presence, content to study Solas’s serene face. She had a feeling that painting like this was similar to meditation for Solas, something to calm his mind and help him think.

“Solas…” Fen’Falon began softly. The other elf put his paintbrush away and moved paints out of the way as he turned towards the Dalish mage.

“Hello,” Solas said.

“Can we talk about what happened at Adamant?”

“What about it? You proved Corypheus and his minions fools once more, crushing their plans for the Wardens and removing the threat. Corypheus cannot take such an event lightly - those who claim to godhood would not tolerate such a threat to their power and plans.”

“I figured as much, but that’s not what I wanted to talk about, _ma_ _fen_.” Fen’Falon pursed her lips in exasperation, sure that Solas was being obtuse on purpose.

“What would you like to talk about then, _vhenan_?”

“What happened in the Fade…what did the Nightmare say to you, Solas? I could barely recognise a scant handful of the words, but they didn’t sound good. _Harellan_? Why?”

Solas’s mouth turned down into a grim line. “I would rather not speak of it, _vhenan_.”

Fen’Falon half-growled at him. “If you don’t want to talk about the specifics, fine. But how are you fluent in the ancient tongue? Are you from Clan Ralaferin?”

Solas didn’t respond, his face inscrutable.

“Answer me, please, Solas,” Fen’Falon begged.

“Once we have thwarted Corypheus in the Arbor Wilds,” said Solas.

Fen’Falon frowned, but she knew that if she pushed Solas here, it wouldn’t end well. “Fine. Promise?”

“Of course, _vhenan_.”

Fen’Falon didn’t talk to Solas for the rest of the day, childish as it was.

* * *

 

The trip to Emprise du Lion, once marching orders were worked out for the soldiers and artillery, was long and awkward for everyone. Varric insisted on getting Fen’Falon to admit why she and Solas weren’t on speaking terms at the moment, Dorian kept trying to ‘fix’ them, and Cassandra was uniquely unhelpful in all matters of the heart. Blackwall, Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Cole were mercifully silent - at least until they actually entered Emprise. Fen’Falon tapped Cole, Dorian, and Cassandra to join her on the initial entrance after the scouts.

“Frozen, too cold, can’t think. The house fell down, husband missing. So many missing. Why won’t they come back?”

“Cole? Are you picking that up from the villagers below?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Cold and starving. Red templars said they would help, only made things worse.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” said Fen’Falon. “Harding said the town down there is Sahrnia. The river’s frozen, and everything is covered in snow, so they haven’t been able to get supplies in. Leliana suspects the red templars are diverting any and all incoming things for their own uses, so that’s our goal - drive the templars out. Added bonus is that we’ll hopefully be cutting off the templars’ supply lines to Corypheus.”

“I approve,” said Cassandra. “That is good thinking.”

“We will help the people?” Cole asked.

“Of course, Cole,” Fen’Falon said with a smile. She did her best to ignore Dorian’s griping about the snow as they tromped into the now-ruined town of Sahrnia. Only a handful of houses were intact, the rest looked burned out or had roofs that collapsed under the weight of the snow. The townsfolk who were able were out scrounging through the ruins, looking for any scrap of food or cloth that could help them through the bitter grip that winter still had on the mountain town. Snow was pushed or shoveled into piles near the burned homes, leaving the roads and paths clear for walking. In the center of town was a frozen fountain sculpture and a small gathering of people around it. Above the gathering stood an older woman, at least fifty years old, and she spoke to the townspeople. When Fen’Falon and the others drew close enough to hear, the woman noticed them and cut off her talk to disperse the crowd.

“Thank the Maker, the Inquisition is here. You will help us, yes?” the woman sounded so relieved to see Cassandra’s Inquisition-marked shield, the eye and the sword shining bright in the light reflected from the snow.

“We are,” Fen’Falon answered. “Can you give us more details on what’s been happening?”

The woman nodded and grimaced. “Those damned red templars happened, is what. They came in promising to help us, if only we would loan them some of our men. So we did, and the men went off and didn’t come back, and the templars had kind words and excuses. We believed them, more fool us, and when they asked for others, we sent our younger men. Eventually the templars stopped asking, and people went missing in the night, or even in the day if they wandered from the village. No one has seen or heard from any of the missing, and…” the woman sobbed, “we fear the worst.”

“Do not worry,” said Cassandra. “We will find them and bring them home to you.”

“Cole, could you--” Fen’Falon didn’t get to finish her request for blankets and warm clothes before Cole _whoomph_ ed away and back again with a pile of fabric.

“Is there somewhere we can put these for you and the town?” Fen’Falon said gently. The woman - the village elder, unless Fen’Falon missed her guess - looked about to cry from gratitude. The elder pointed towards one of the intact houses and Cole vanished once more to reappear with empty hands.

“We’re going to deal with the templars, miss. We’ll be back through when we’re done to check up on your town, if that’s alright with you?”

The woman nodded once more and turned back into the village. A sliver of tingling pain shot up Fen’Falon’s left arm, indicating that a rift had opened nearby, and the Inquisitor led the group off in that direction with the intent of closing it quickly.

 


	56. Deals Struck

Suledin Keep was beautiful. It reminded Fen’Falon strongly of Skyhold, naturally enough, but looked more akin to the elvhen ruins of the Exalted Plains. Tall pointed arches marked what had once been windows, the glass long since scavenged and broken. The group passed statues of Ghilan’nain, Mythal, and even one of the wolves that could only be Fen’Harel. The Inquisitor and her friends cut swathes through the red templars, taking down the templar behemoths and horrors easily. The red-lyrium infected giant gave them a bit more trouble, escorted as it was by more templars, but Fen’Falon hit on the idea of angering the giant enough that it stopped caring about who got stepped on, and then arranged for the giant to step on the templars frequently.

Finally they came to the main stair of the ancient keep. Fen’Falon led the group up the stairs and gave up counting them about a third of the way up, more interested in what they would find on the other side of the doors at the top.

“Shall we knock?” Fen’Falon asked with a wicked grin.

“What a splendid idea!” Dorian said. He came up the last few steps to stand next to Fen’Falon, and together they thrust their staves forwards, blowing the doors open. Another set of doors lay at the opposite end of what had once been an antechamber. These doors were just as unceremoniously blasted open to reveal a walled courtyard. It had probably once been a ballroom or throneroom, but now it was filled with vegetation like the rest of the keep. The templars had added to the structure however: four large black metal spikes held the ends of four enormous chains which suspended an equally large metal spike. The spike was split into quarters and held a giant piece of red lyrium. Fen’Falon realised that this must be the “garden” the notes they had found in the keep spoke of. Which would make the man standing in front of the lyrium the mysterious-maybe-demon Imshael.

Short, dark hair framed a rounded face - the man was pretty enough, Fen’Falon supposed, for a _shem_. Imshael was wearing mage robes very similar to those of the apostate mages in Redcliffe: feathered pauldrons over fabric and quilted leather, held shut over an undershirt by dark leather belts and brass circles.

A quick glance around the garden showed Fen’Falon a pair of rage demons and what appeared to be a templar frozen in place. The elven mage held up a hand to keep her companions from attacking immediately - Solas was always going on about how spirits weren’t necessarily problematic, and it was very possible that Imshael wasn’t a demon at all, but a spirit that had simply decided to help the wrong side.

“Ah, the hero arrives at last,” Imshael spoke as the Inquisitor drew near. “Or is it murderer? It’s so hard to tell.”

“You must be Imshael, the demon,” Fen’Falon returned. If he was going to be insulting then she was happy to return the favour.

Imshael coughed pointedly. “Choice. Spirit,” he said. Fen’Falon smirked slightly, pleased to have gotten a rise out of the spirit.

“Uh-huh. We’ll see how spirited you are when you’re dead,” said Fen’Falon. She reached behind her as though unhooking her staff to engage in a fight.

“Wait, wait, _wait_. Your friends are very violent - it’s worrying,” Imshael almost looked _concerned_.

Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow at the spirit. “And?”

“True to my name, I’ll show you a choice. It doesn’t always have to end in blood.”

“A choice between….what, exactly? Because if it’s between dying and not-dying, then I’m going to pick not-dying every day.” Fen’Falon wondered what Solas would have to say about this conversation.

“That never ends well, Icy…” Varric said.

“It’s simple, really,” Imshael said. “We don’t fight, and in return I grant you power. Shower you with riches. Or maybe virgins. Your pick. Then we all live happily ever after. Well, maybe not all of us. But who’s counting?”

Fen’Falon realised that Imshael was definitely a demon - but which kind? Rage was definitely out of the question, as were the other base emotions like Envy. Cole would probably be able to tell her, but she had asked him to continue helping the town of Sahrnia with their supply issues, taking Varric instead.  Varric had once told her a story of how he and Hawke found a series of demonic tomes, culminating in a battle against a demon - reason enough for Varric, at least, to be unhappy with this conversation. But if Imshael could truly keep the deal he was offering, wouldn’t it be worth it, to gain that extra advantage over whatever Corypheus might throw at them next, Fen’Falon thought.

A question occurred to her. “Tell me, ‘choice spirit’,” she said, dripping with sarcasm. “What do you gain from this deal?”

“Fen, you aren’t seriously considering this…” Dorian said.

Imshael chuckled. “My gain? I walk away from this encounter unscathed and free of pursuit.”

Fen’Falon knew that Keeper Deshanna would be disappointed should she ever hear of what Fen’Falon was about to do. To save the world, Fen’Falon would make a deal with a demon. She could deal with the consequences later.

“Fine. What are my options?”

“As I said, I can give you power, or riches, or even virgins if your taste runs that direction. Your choice, hero.”

“Power, then,” said Fen’Falon.

“Ahh, power. Would’ve been my pick too. I like you,” Imshael said. His voice turned serious. “The choice is made. The deal is struck. Nice doing business, Herald of Andraste.”

The barest hint of sound accompanied Imshael’s transformation into a raven, which flew out of the keep as quickly as wings could take him. In his place was a tall scrolled iron cylinder, with a small door left ajar. On the shelf within, Fen’Falon found an enchanted rune, a black raven’s feather, and an amulet that radiated power. Her Keeper’s tales had often told of foolish adventurers who put on amulets and rings without examining them first, so Fen’Falon knew to resist the temptation to wear the amulet immediately. The rest went into pockets and pouches.

Varric looked very unhappy and muttered to himself about Hawke and demons and Kirkwall. Dorian was less unhappy, but still radiated disapproval at Fen’Falon’s decision regarding Imshael. Fen’Falon herself was disquieted by the choice “spirit’s” power, but she felt no regrets about taking the deal, given that the other demons had vanished along with Imshael. The templar that had been nearby appeared to be dead as well.

It would take days to clear out the red lyrium from the keep, if not weeks - Fen’Falon shuddered at the thought of being exposed to it for so long. The memories of Redcliffe were still fresh in her mind even after all these months, the horror of seeing her closest friends warped by poison. The nightmares had abated somewhat, for which Fen’Falon was thankful. She shook her head to clear the melancholy thoughts away.

“Let’s get a flag up so the soldiers know it’s safe,” Fen’Falon said. Her companions didn’t reply and an awkward sullen silence sprang up among them. Fen’Falon led them up the last of the stairs to the balcony with the flag pole and ran up the Inquisition official flag. The device of an open eye in front of the blaring sun over a sword sat in silver and red on a field of black, and once hung from the top of the pole, it flapped in the wind.

At least Fen’Falon could take pride in claiming Suledin Keep for the Inquisition, even if she couldn’t say the same for her choice earlier with Imshael.

They couldn’t wait for the keep to be made presentable - the need to catch up and cut off Corypheus was too great - so Fen’Falon and the others traipsed back to Sahrnia to finish supplying the town. The walk back to the town was filled with the silence from the Keep, broken only by wildlife sounds and the occasional howl of a wolf. Fen’Falon could have sworn she heard the sound of a dragon’s wings as they passed near the destroyed bridge, but ignored it in favour of returning to Sahrnia quickly.

Cole was the first to realise what had happened, naturally. “Sorrow tinged with regret, but not regretful. You took the choice given, knowing it was your only real option, yet you cannot find peace in it?”

Fen’Falon shook her head. “Got it in one, Kid. Just, please, let me tell the others myself, okay?”

“All right,” Cole said. He _whoomphed_ away, likely back to the camp in the hills above the town. The others didn’t say a word. Maybe she wouldn’t tell anyone, not if the reactions of Varric, Dorian, and Cassandra were any gauge. The urge to tell Solas, at the minimum, was there but she had been silent towards him for too long now to be willing to break it for anything less than either an apology or the truth from the older elf.

Fen’Falon spent the night awake and alone in her tent, turning her actions and choices over in her mind again and again. In the morning, the Inquisitor and her companions left Emprise du Lion for the Emerald Graves.

 


	57. Grave Highlights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods this chapter is so late. It didn't want to write *at all*, but I felt weird just skipping to what will be the next chapter. So instead we've got a 'highlights' style chapter, with snippets from the less interesting adventures in the Emerald Graves.

Everything was green - emerald, brilliant, yellow, blue, with hints of reds and whites as flowers poked through the leafy foliage. The few roads that were visible were half-covered by leafy plants and overhanging vines. No wonder the elves had buried their dead here, Fen’Falon thought. The Emerald Graves were absolutely amazing. The ancient trees that marked equally ancient graves were taller than even Halamshiral, maybe even taller than a Circle tower. The trunks of the trees would probably have taken five or more of qunari like the Iron Bull to encircle. Most shockingly, it was warm, warmer than the southlands had any right to be. It felt like home.

Fen’Falon glanced around to see how her companions were handling their entry into one of the most sacred lands of the Dalish. Varric was scribbling away in a notebook, preserving the details of the sight for one of his ever-present novels. The warriors - Cassandra, Iron Bull, Blackwall - were alert, scanning the area for enemies and danger. Solas looked decidedly unimpressed, but whether that was because he had been here before or because of his lack of Dalish heritage, Fen’Falon did not know. Cole was petting a dark-coloured nug that had crept up to him.

One of Leliana’s scouts came up to the group once they got settled.

“Scout Harding, reporting, ser,” the scout said.

“What have you got?” said Fen’Falon.

“Fairbanks is with his people in a ravine nearby, hiding from the templars. We’ve sighted red templars moving through the area regularly with wagons and carts - likely supplies for troops further in. There’s also some trouble from the Freemen of the Dales. It’s a beautiful area, Inquisitor - you just need to watch out for the giant bears and the giants.”

“Thank you, Harding. Some of my group and I should be moving out shortly. I’ll send word when we establish camps so that the rest of you can join us as we move forwards.”

“Always a pleasure, Inquisitor.”

Fen’Falon walked away from Harding to think about which of her companions were best suited to making contact with this Fairbanks person.

* * *

 

Fairbanks was not a handsome man by any stretch, even when accounting for Fen’Falon’s admittedly elven taste. Something about him made Fen’Falon want to take a long scrub under a waterfall. Most of his information matched up with what Scout Harding had already passed along: the Freemen of the Dales were causing problems, and the red templars had a significant presence.

“Anything else?” Fen’Falon asked the man. They stood deep in a ravine where Fairbanks and his people had taken refuge, cots and bedrolls lining the walls of a cave. Crates were stacked along the edges with papers, books, and foodstuffs placed on them as if the crates were tables.

“The templars are...strange, m’lady,” said Fairbanks.

“Strange how?”

“Red bits growing out them. They’ve been carryin’ long crates with more of the red growing out of them through here for weeks now.”

“Red lyrium,” Fen’Falon said. “They must be transporting it into the Arbor Wilds for the Elder One.” Fen’Falon included Solas, Cole, and Cassandra in her words.

“Then we must stop them,” said Cassandra.

“Naturally,” Fen’Falon said with a smirk. “Fairbanks, do you have a map of where the Freemen and the templars are holing up?”

“Of course, my lady Inquisitor.” The man walked the group over to one of the few actual tables in the refuge, on which a large map had been pinned. Painted stones seemed to mark off landmarks and other areas of note - Fen’Falon saw by this that for all the map’s size, it was still only of the local area.

Fairbanks tapped one of the red painted stones. “I believe this is where the Templars are bringing the crates, Inquisitor. And these,” he tapped a blue stone, “mark known locations of the Freemen of the Dales. There are groups of both roaming around the Graves, though occasionally the local creatures manage to keep the numbers down.”

“What are we looking at, numbers and creatures?”

Fairbanks looked surprised to hear an intelligent question from the Inquisitor, much to Fen’Falon’s disgust. Bloody shems and their prejudice against elves. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“My people have counted almost fifty Templars, and maybe forty of the Freemen, m’lady. Then we’ve got the giants, giant bears, brontos, and some mighty aggressive black wolves. If we’re lucky they all fight each other and leave us alone.”

“Thank you, Fairbanks,” Fen’Falon said. “Inquisition, let’s move out.”

* * *

 

After the hardships they had clearing the templars from Emprise du Lion, Fen’Falon thought the current group was almost easier to take on. She suspected that the lack of a defensible fortress here was making it hard for the red templars to maintain their positions in the Graves. Safely containing the red lyrium was a much larger problem, however. The templars had hundreds of crates and chests of the foul substance littered across the Emerald Graves, corrupting the surrounding area. Fen’Falon arranged to leave Inquisition soldiers behind with strict instructions for handling the lyrium and transporting it back to Skyhold for research purposes.

Compared to the templars, the Freemen of the Dales were pathetically easy to disperse. Their crude fortress surrounded by wooden stakes was barely a challenge for Fen’Falon as she alternately froze and burned it to the ground. Fen’Falon and the others set up camp nearby to keep watch for stragglers who hadn’t been in the fortress during the attack. None came.

* * *

 

In camp that night Solas had drawn first watch. Fen’Falon had second, and knew that she wouldn’t be able to sleep until after her own turn. With the others asleep until it was time for their own watches, now was the perfect time to fix things between herself and Solas.

“Solas, can we talk?” Fen’Falon approached, tense and anxious. The tension between the two elven mages had grown unbearable for her, even more so when she realised that Solas was stubborn enough to continue the silence if it meant not having to give the answers Fen’Falon wanted. So here she was, swallowing her own pride and stubbornness in favour of having her friend and romantic partner back.

“We may, Inquisitor,” Solas said. Fen’Falon flinched - he knew how much she hated the title, hated having to be in charge of something this large.

“I...I’m sorry, Solas.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

Fen’Falon sighed. Of course he couldn’t just make this easy for her. “I’m sorry for pushing you, before, for answers and explanations. All of us have secrets from the others. I didn’t mean to pry, not if you aren’t willing to share. Please, can we go back to before we had this silly disagreement?”

“Until a few months ago I would have said it was impossible to turn back time, ma vhenan. So I do not believe we can go back, but if you are amenable, we can perhaps move forward?”

Fen’Falon grinned shyly. “That would be nice, ma fen.”

She stood watch with Solas, and he with her, for the first time in nearly a month. They kept ears out for unusual noises and approaching animals, but were otherwise distracted by rediscovering the other’s lips, ears, hands, and such. At the end of second watch, Fen’Falon woke Cassandra and the two elves fell asleep curled into each other in Fen’Falon’s tent. The remainder of the night was thankfully without incident. The coming day would turn out to be quite a different story.


	58. Din'an Hanin

Din’an Hanin looked to be a crumbling ruin, assuming the maps were correct. Walls had long since lost their windows, and the supporting walls were tumbling down into piles of rubble. Fen’Falon was the first to spot the tell-tale signs of a Dalish camp in the ruins - a lone aravel stood near a wall. The elves of Keeper Hawen’s clan who had come here with the First were nowhere to be found, however.

The question of where the Dalish had gone became moot when Cole’s boots crunched on something in the grass. The spirit-made-flesh teleported away from the offending object instantly and Fen’Falon moved in to see what had so offended the kid. A corpse charred beyond recognition lay in the long grasses, and now that she knew what she was looking at, Fen’Falon spotted at least three others.

“These...these must be the elves from Hawen’s clan,” Fen’Falon choked out. “But where are our men? The soldiers we sent to help with exploring?”

Cassandra had moved to the little hill where a campfire smouldered. “These are our men,” the warrior said. Fen’Falon growled, then spun in a slow circle to take in the full situation. A total of eight charred corpses lay scattered in the small square made by the crumbling walls. Some were near the aravel - likely the Dalish who had been in the Emerald Graves already. The others, some with weapons nearby, were the Inquisition soldiers sent to guard and help the elves with their project.

“It is likely this was done by the red templars,” said Cassandra.

“Agreed,” Fen’Falon said. “They must be inside.” The mage stalked forwards and thrust a set of doors that led deeper into the ruins open.

The antechamber of the ruins had stairs that led up and into a courtyard. To one side of the stairs were bronze statues of a howling wolf set into alcoves in the wall. Spiralling patterns of Dalish text and runes were engraved on the statues, lending them a gravitas that Fen’Falon had only seen in the warding statue of Fen’Harel that her clan travelled with.

Fen’Falon led the others up the stairs into the courtyard. What must have once been magnificent gardens had long since overgrown their bounds, the vines and trees bringing down parts of walls and walkways in their desperate need to grow. Wall drawings had been added by travelling Dalish at some point, these ones depicting the Long Walk. Fen’Falon let a hiss of displeasure slip as the group crested a shattered walkway to see spikes of red lyrium jutting up from the courtyard floor.

“Venatori,” Fen’Falon said. She bared her teeth and readied her staff. Solas brought up a barrier around the group just as Cassandra charged down the stairs and shield-bashed the nearest target.

“All who serve Corypheus willingly deserve their fate,” Solas said, baring his own teeth in a feral grin to match Fen’Falon’s. “Let us thin the ranks.”

The two mages traded off a flurry of spells as Cole danced between their enemies with his daggers. Cassandra shattered a red templar behemoth that Fen’Falon had frozen in place, and all too soon the courtyard was cleared of the invading presence.

Fen’Falon looked around the courtyard to confirm. “This place must’ve been amazing when it was intact,” she said mournfully.

“We should keep moving,” said Cassandra.

“Right,” Fen’Falon said, and suited action to words. The group pressed forwards into the main hall of Din’an Hanin. Golden sunlight filtered in through cracks in the vaulted roof, lending a warm glow to the walls and floors. Falon'Din’s owls graced the columns in-between arches that held up parts of an upper level, and green rugs with shimmering golden thread ran the length and breadth of the chamber. Sculptures of Elgar’nan’s face were set into alcoves in the far wall, flanking a hallway that led further into the structure. By some grace of the gods chandeliers still hung from the ceiling, their delicate curves highlighting similar structures in the rugs and the few tapestries that had survived the centuries.

“The elves didn’t have to die,” Cole remarked. The other looked at him curiously, but the spirit-boy did not elaborate. Flashes of glowing red soon distracted them.

Red templars prowled the halls with their lyrium monsters and were cut down by Fen’Falon and the others easily. A quick search of the alcoves and side rooms brought only a small collection of seals in the form of emerald amulets - likely keys to the more sacred paths of the ancient elven structure.

The foursome slid carefully through the open doors that led into the tombs of the emerald knights and tried to keep their entrance from the Venatori they could see prowling the far side of the room.

Fen’Falon caught her breath just in time to keep from gasping - even in ruins the tombs were stunning. Hanging ivy dangled from the ceiling and a tall statue of Mythal. It crept along the walls in places, stopped only by the roots of trees that had grown from inside the structure until their leafy branches pierced up into the sky. The Venatori had clearly been in the tombs for a while - ladders led to and from the different platforms and levels where the stairs had collapsed into rubble.

As with the main hall, Fen’Falon led the others into rooms off the main area to check for Venatori or other complications. More of the emerald seals were picked up, if only to keep the Venatori from accessing the hallowed tombs easily. With the side rooms clear, they could focus on clearing out the Venatori and their pet templars. Another of the lyrium monsters proved more difficult than the first to dispatch, forcing Fen’Falon on the defensive as she tried to keep the beast from knocking Cole or Cassandra or - Creators forbid - Solas into the next week.

Fen’Falon danced around the blighted creature with her fadeblade, hacking away at the red lyrium that it was using as armor. Cassandra did the same with her great two handed sword, the two women barely managing to make dents in the lyrium.

“Cole! Distract it! Cassandra, get away from the beast,” Fen’Falon shouted. “Solas?” she asked, mischief in her eyes. Solas nodded his head once to indicate that he had gotten the gist of Fen’Falon’s plan. Together, the two elves put some distance between them and the red lyrium beast before pointing their staff tips at it. As if they shared one mind, they pushed mana through the staves and it manifested in two giant bolts of purple lightning that struck the beast solidly in the chest. It fell with a great crash, the lyrium shattered on contact with the stone floor. With the lyrium cracked Cassandra was able to use her sword to remove the head of the beast, ensuring that it could not return to follow them.

They moved quickly through the lower levels, carefully clearing each of the side rooms before moving forwards. Finally they came to a high-ceilinged chamber untouched by rubble and plants. Wooden doors stretched up almost to the ceiling, interrupted by another wall-mounted mask of Elgar’nan set at the pointed peak of the doors. To either side of the doors and roughly a pace away from them along the side walls were white and gold banners hung from banner stands. An opening in the ceiling allowed sunlight to filter in, lending an otherworldly feel to the room.

The doors would not open, much to Fen’Falon’s frustration. It meant it was unlikely there were Venatori within, but the unquiet spirits of the slain Dalish would press at her conscience unless she was certain that none were left to desecrate the ancient place. A glance around to see if she had missed anything - veilfire torches set into sections of the wall. Perhaps lighting them would grant access? The Dalish Inquisitor drew on her mana and lit all four torches at once, earning a tiny smile from Solas for her efforts.

“That was well done, _vhenan_ ,” Solas said. Fen’Falon blushed faintly and murmured her thanks.

With the veilfire torches lit, the doors to the innermost tomb - proclaimed by writing on the metal banding along the doors to be Elandrin’s Tomb - opened with ease. The room beyond lay untouched by the ages save for hanging ivy that had found its way through the roof top openings for sunlight. Four columns framed a rectangular hole in the floor, at the bottom of which was what appeared to be the rest of the path to the other side of the room. A large statue of Elgar’nan rested in between the two far columns with a purple flame floating in front of it, directly over the hole in the floor. On one side of each column was a veilfire torch, unlit. Sarcophagi rested in inset sections of floor to either side of the gap, and alcoves ran parallel to them. With the torches unlit, shadows reigned supreme in the room save for the beams of sunlight streaming through the ceiling.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Fen’Falon whispered. The sound carried through the room, and for a moment all four companions didn’t dare breathe. Caves, tunnels, and even castle over the past seven months had trained them into hypervigilance, where every move and sound could be the trigger for undead guardians or worse, giant spiders. When no further sounds were forthcoming the group let out a collective sigh of relief.

“We should go,” said Fen’Falon. She led the others back through the doors, which shut behind them immediately. They took a more leisurely pace on their return trip through the half-ruined tombs, allowing Fen’Falon to take in the marvels of the original Dalish, the last of the elvhen.

Outside, Fen’Falon was glad to see that no Venatori had come to the tombs while she was occupied inside. The bodies of the elves and the Inquisition soldiers lay where they had been left, the aravel remained untouched.

The walk back to their camp was remarkably uneventful which allowed for good time to be made. Once back in the safety of the camp, Fen’Falon arranged for a raven to be sent to Keeper Hawen, informing him of his people’s loss so that proper steps could be taken by his clan. A note was also sent to Fairbanks, informing him that the Inquisition soldiers left to secure the Emerald Graves would ensure that the Venatori and Freemen stayed clear of the area as best as possible. Soldiers were also dispatched to handle burial rights for the slain elves and Inquisition at Din’an Hanin.

Tomorrow they would leave for the deep Arbor Wilds and the location of the Eluvian. An Eluvian that, according to Morrigan, could be Corypheus’s ticket into the Fade, and from there to godhood in the Black City. Sleep did not come easy that night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we begin the push to the endgame :)


	59. Quiet Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit late on this one - got interrupted by a sudden rush at work and then Memorial Day Weekend. Never fear, next chapter will start the drama that is the Temple of Mythal. :)

Four days spent walking among the trees from the Emerald Graves and into the Arbor Wilds. The border was easy to see: the Graves were carefully tended trees and grave shrines, the bushes and ivies kept clear, the statues relatively free of moss. The Wilds were truly so, the grave shrines and their trees overgrown with ivy, moss, and clinging flowers. No paths could be discerned between the trees, the Inquisition soldiers and Inquisitor’s group simply choosing the path of least resistance amongst them. To Fen’Falon’s mind, the differences between the Graves and the Wilds was the difference between the Dalish who tolerated and lived near human settlements and the Dalish like the Raleferin, like Hawen’s clan, who still used Fen’Harel’s teeth and hunted _shemlen_ for sport.

Just as clear as the difference was, so too was it clear that the Wilds had once been a part of the Emerald Graves. The trees were the same, and here and there Fen’Falon could spot the grave shrines that would have told of the person who had become that particular tree, if the plaque were still visible. Statues of the Creators could be seen a few places, mostly Mythal and Fen’Harel - known to Fen’Falon only because of the wings that denied plants their purchase or the pointed wolf ears that had not yet been overgrown.

Tents were forsworn for bedrolls and sleeping under bushes as the overgrown nature of the Arbor Wilds made it impossible to camp properly without giving away their location. Fen’Falon knew that a true camp awaited them when they reached Cullen and Morrigan deeper in the Wilds. With any luck, Morrigan would also have a better idea of where the eluvian was that Corypheus wanted so badly.

“Penny for your thoughts, Icy?” Varric asked.

“Hmm?” Fen’Falon came out of her introspection dazed. She looked down at Varric. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it. Scouts say we’re less than a day’s walk away from Cullen’s camp now.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

Varric gave Fen’Falon a look that suggested her reaction wasn’t the right one.  “You guess?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just….something feels off lately.”

“Perhaps the Inquisitor’s instincts are correct,” Solas cut in. “The Wilds feel hostile, a marked change from our forays in the Emerald Graves.”

Fen’Falon shot Solas a grateful look - his words had captured the feeling she had been having since they left the Graves. Most of the feeling anyway - a large part of her was filled with trepidation, an unwillingness to move forward with the plan.

“Trust the elves to find the woods hostile,” Varric huffed. “They don’t feel any different from any other forest as far as I’m concerned.”

“And that is why we are mages and you are not, _durgen’len_ ,” said Solas. “We are attuned to the shape of the world, the feelings that leak in from the Fade itself. I would not be so quick to discount our feelings, were I you.”

“Sure, Chuckles. You’re the expert, after all.” Varric stomped off towards Cassandra, likely to tease her about reading his books. Yesterday Fen’Falon had caught the Seeker reading the latest Swords and Shields novel, much to Varric’s delight, and the dwarf now spent the hours they walked asking Cassandra about her thoughts on his writings.

With Varric off to speak with Cassandra, only Solas remained in Fen’Falon’s immediate company. The Inquisition soldiers kept to themselves, and Cole and the others seemed to be play some sort of word game. They walked in quiet for a time until Solas took one of Fen’Falon’s hands in his own.

“Is there anything I might help you with, _vhenan_?” he asked quietly.

Fen’Falon shook her heads, wisps of hair escaping the ponytail she had pulled it into. “I’m not sure. I feel uneasy, is all, I think.”

“The forest may be hostile, my heart, but I do not believe it is directed at us or our companions. What troubles your mind?”

Fen’Falon sighed and leaned into Solas just a bit, taking comfort in her love’s presence.

“Something doesn’t feel right here. Not just the graves, Solas. What if it isn’t the eluvian that Corypheus is after? My Keeper told me about the eluvians once as a warning - more than ten years ago a young male from clan Sabrae came across one in the Brecilian Forest and was lost. But that doesn’t sound like a means of entering the Fade. Is it truly possible?”

Solas looked thoughtful. “With the correct eluvian, I believe it would be possible to enter the Fade. But without a way to exit - such as another eluvian, or the mark upon your hand - such a trip would be pointless.”

“I thought that’s what the orb was for,” Fen’Falon said.

“I suspect it would have been able to be used as a key had you not interrupted Corypheus’s ritual, _ma da’harellan_ ,” Solas smirked at Fen’Falon and kissed her briefly. “However, your mark now acts as a key to and from the Fade, if our adventures at Adamant Fortress are an indicator.”

“Ah. Hmm. Could there be another orb?”

Solas hid a look of surprise behind his usual mask of curiosity, though Fen’Falon made note of the look. She mentally placed it alongside the other odd things Solas had said and done during their time together - she would figure out his background eventually.

“My studies have never spoken of another,” said Solas. “But it is possible. We cannot know for certain until we have discerned the location that Corypheus intends to take, however.”

“I suppose that’s true. Small comfort though, _ma fen_.” Fen’Falon tugged herself into Solas’s chest, wrapping him a quick hug before they continued walking.

“You shine brighter when you are with him,” Cole informed Fen’Falon, popping out of the air in front of the two elven mages.

Fen’Falon smiled at the spirit-boy. “Thank you for telling me, Cole.”

“Are you well, Cole?” Solas asked.

Cole turned his head to one side and bounced briefly on his toes before answering. “Well wishing, waiting for once. Clean and clear, uncluttered.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Solas said.

“I as well,” said Fen’Falon.

“Can I help you? You healed my hurt, but yours is old inside, vast across the Veil.”

“I am fine, Cole,” said Solas. “There are others who need your help more urgently.”

“Perhaps the soldiers?” Fen’Falon said.

“Yes,” Cole said, and popped away towards the back of the group. Both Fen’Falon and Solas turned to see the spirit reappear among the Inquisition soldiers there, and Fen’Falon grinned to hear a muffled cry of astonishment. Even after all these months, the soldiers still weren’t used to Cole’s method of moving around.

When they arrived at the Inquisition camp that would become their base of operations, Fen’Falon’s greatest desire was to find her tent with Solas and collapse into sleep with him. Of course, what with Fen’Falon being the Inquisitor, and theoretically the leader of this group, she was instead thrust immediately into planning meetings with Cullen and the others.

Leliana had opted to stay behind at Skyhold with Josephine and run her spy network from there, which filled the following three and some days with the sound of ravens’ wings. Cullen, Cassandra, and Morrigan met with the Inquisitor to discuss plans which changed constantly as the scouts returned from looking for the location of the eluvian.

With the reports of the scouts and some help from a rather talented artist among the soldiers, a map of the Arbor Wilds was drawn and affixed to Cullen’s table in his tent. Little blue wooden figures represented the Inquisition scouts, soldiers, and mages, while red-painted ones represented locations where the scouts had come across Corypheus’s minions. A small handful of green ones remained on the side of the map, untouched from the time they had been placed there. These last few were meant to represent Fen’Falon and her friends and companions.

Or at least, those who had deigned to join the Inquisition forces in the Wilds. Vivienne had returned to Skyhold, ostensibly to oversee things there, though Fen’Falon suspected it had more to do with solidifying the woman’s hold over her interests. Iron Bull had brought his Chargers along to help, and they kept Fen’Falon’s thoughts away from melancholy at night with their ridiculous stories of exploits with Bull. Blackwall had finally joined the group, but kept to himself and was mostly quiet. The others were as they had always been - Dorian in good spirits and helping others to achieve the same, Cole making cryptic comments and then popping off somewhere else in the camp, Varric telling and writing his stories. And of course Solas, erstwhile friend and now beloved of Fen’Falon.

When reports came back from the scouts that they had discovered a sizeable force of red templars, Venatori, and soldiers marching towards an ancient ruin, Cullen threw the camp into a frenzy. The only tents not packed were Cullen’s and the ones belonging to the Inquisitor’s group. Planning took on an urgent note and Fen’Falon stopped sleeping most nights, too occupied with trying to both absorb everything she was learning and also help Cullen plan the assault they would likely have to make. One small blessing was that no one had yet seen Corypheus, and everyone hoped that meant that he was trusting his soldiers to take the eluvian for him.

Finally, nearly a week after Fen’Falon and her band had arrived in the Arbor Wilds, it was time for the Inquisition to make their move. In two days the soldiers and mages would march out to secure the area. Fen’Falon and her chosen companions would rush for the ruins, hopefully beating Corypheus or his lieutenants there, and then holding them off while the soldiers closed in to assist. Ideally, Fen’Falon would destroy the eluvian, thus denying Corypheus what might be his last chance to enter the Fade physically without the Inquisitor’s assistance.

It was time.

 


	60. The Arbor Wilds

Fen’Falon snuggled deeper into Solas’s chest to prolong what could well be their last morning of relative peace before everything began to speed up. Solas pulled the smaller elf closer in and nuzzled at Fen’Falon’s hair before he sat up.

“We must press forward, _vhenan_ ,” said Solas. Fen’Falon made a face and reluctantly rolled herself into an upright position.

Fen’Falon put her new armour in a pile on her sleeping furs - the smiths had only finished it the previous night.

“Help me with my armour, _ma_ _fen_?” she asked with a small grin. Solas answered with a quick kiss and a grin of his own, and the pair were soon passing bits of armour back and forth as they strapped it to the Inquisitor. A metal breastplate sat over Fen’Falon’s undershirt, designed to fit under the mage’s coat she typically wore. Fabric backed with chainmail wrapped around her middle to protect her vitals without encumbering her, and small metal pauldrons were attached to the armless coat near her shoulders. Metal gauntlets that ended in a plate on the back of Fen’Falon’s hand instead of a full glove gave coverage for her wrists and arms. The armor had also come with new boots, which Fen’Falon had given back to the shemlen smiths. She may be their Inquisitor and their bloody Herald, but she was not a shem - Fen’Falon would wear Dalish footwraps or go without. Especially the Arbor Wilds were warmer than expected for a southron summer.

Armour in place, Fen’Falon held out the pieces of Solas’s new gear for him - his was easier, comprised mostly of fur wraps and chainmail-backed fabric. He looked very much like a hostile apostate in the armour, ready to tear into anyone he saw as an enemy. He kissed Fen’Falon again before she walked out into camp, ready to deny Corypheus and his army access to the Fade.

“If we are successful, _vhenan_ , I believe you will truly be _da’harellan_ , to pull such a trick on the Elder One,” Solas told her. Fen’Falon smirked and stepped out into the sunlight.

“Inquisitor, it’s good to see you’re awake,” Cullen said as he came into step with Fen’Falon. “My men have engaged Corypheus’s forces already.”

“We suspect he is heading for the ruins to the north. They appear to be some sort of temple,” Leliana said.

“Got it,” said Fen’Falon. “Is there a plan for getting me, Solas, Iron Bull, Cole, and Morrigan there?” Fen’Falon hated that she seemed to need Morrigan for this - the woman was so sure of her knowledge of ancient elvhenan and their magics, speaking as though there wasn’t a Dalish elf standing in front of her.

“I can have my men clear a path through Corypheus’s for you,” Cullen replied.

“Good.”

“Good luck, Inquisitor, and may Andraste guide you,” Leliana said. Fen’Falon bowed her head in thanks and stepped away Leliana and Cullen. Finding Solas was easy - he was still inside their tent. Cole would appear when he felt needed, and the Iron Bull was hard to miss. Fen’Falon was still reluctant to approach Morrigan, but the woman’s knowledge of the eluvians might be what they needed to see this through.

“I wonder,” said a voice hoarse and mocking. Fen’Falon thought unkind things about the witch from Orlais. “Do the soldiers cry out your name in battle as they do Andraste’s?”

“Stuff it, Morrigan. It’s irrelevant,” Fen’Falon snapped. “Time is short.”

Morrigan waved a hand as if to brush off Fen’Falon’s words. “In any case, if your scouts report accurately on these ruins, I believe them to be the Temple of Mythal.”

Fen’Falon’s pupils widened in surprise. A temple to Mythal? Creators what a gift it would be to find such a place. One so deep in the Wilds, so far from any _shemlen_ settlement, was sure to be nearly untouched. Perhaps when Corypheus was dead Fen’Falon would be able to share the tale of this place with her clan.

“It is a place of worship out of elven legend,” Morrigan said. Fen’Falon came out of her thoughts with a jolt. The Dalish mage glared at Morrigan but said nothing - this was neither the time nor the place to fix Morrigan’s assumption that she knew more than the Dalish.

“If Corypheus seeks it,” Morrigan continued, “then the eluvian he covets lies within.”

Explosions sounded in the distance, accompanied by a burst of flame that reached above the tall underbrush. Morrigan and Fen’Falon turned towards the source of the sound.

“We need to get moving,” said Fen’Falon. Morrigan gestured that Fen’Falon should move and followed the Inquisitor. Solas, Iron Bull, and Cole fell into step just as Fen’Falon passed the ballistae at the edge of camp. The sound of fighting up ahead gave the Dalish elf all the clues she needed to press forward under the assumption that the heaviest fighting would be closest to this Temple. The group moved down the trail cut by the Inquisition soldiers - or by Corypheus’s men.

Soldiers of the Inquisition did battle in small pockets with red templars and the occasional Grey Warden that Corypheus had managed to retain control of after Adamant. Fen’Falon led her friends and Morrigan past, trusting that the Inquisition would come out on top in these skirmishes.

Staying out of the fight stopped being an option when they reached the river. A group of red templars had blocked off the path forward to force a fight near a vine-covered ruined wall. Fen’Falon unslung her staff, pointed a hand at the templars, and let loose a burst of lightning. She grinned savagely as the sparks jumped between the templars multiple times and one of the enemy fell, out of the fight even before it really began.

The Iron Bull made a beeline for the largest of the red templars - a hulking mass of distorted flesh and red lyrium spikes, barely human at all. Bull’s massive broadsword swung down onto the templar to be blocked by the other man’s shield, and Cole popped into the battle behind him. The red templar collapsed to the ground as Cole pulled his twin daggers from the man’s back. Two more templars remained, and Fen’Falon and Solas combined their magicks to make quick work of them. Morrigan looked impressed and Fen’Falon smirked at the witch who hadn’t even managed to get one spell off before the red templars were dealt with.

The group waded through the river shallows, dealing similarly with other groups of Corypheus’s forces, and even a forward camp. Even in the heart of a battle, Fen’Falon was taking notice and cataloguing the pieces of her people’s history that were present here. Large statues representing Andruil flanked the river, connected by a crumbling wall. As she moved further down the path cleared by the soldiers, the group passed a statue of Ghilan’nain’s halla. They crossed the river and passed through what had once been a gate with Falon’din’s owls on either side of it, columns rising into the air to support fragments of a ceiling.

Soon after they were attacked by mysterious beings in golden armor who flitted in and out of the shadows like wraiths. Fen’Falon would have much rather spoken with the beings, but attacks necessitated a response, which unfortunately left the new enemy dead.

“Those weren’t Dalish elves,” Fen’Falon said during a lull. Solas looked at her and nodded slightly.

“It seems this Temple of Mythal is not deserted after all,” he said.

“Perhaps these creatures are the reason few return from the Arbor Wilds,” said Morrigan.

“Creatures?” Fen’Falon spat. “They are _elves_ , Morrigan.” Fen’Falon sneered at the witch and walked off, the others left to follow behind like ducklings. They passed between more columns, the edges still gilded even after centuries.

Fen’Falon rounded the bend and stopped. A pair of templar behemoths - nightmare creatures more lyrium than thinking being - stood tall above the soldiers that were being smashed beneath their fists. A mostly intact wall hemmed the creature in, and Fen’Falon rushed to the defense of the soldiers, lightning flying from her hands even as she shot bolts of energy from her staff. As the others caught up, they too engaged with the behemoths and soon the immediate forest was filled with the sounds metal on metal, lightning, fire, and the occasional cry of pain. The forest floor shook when the behemoths were finally brought down, one falling only minutes before the other.

“Thank you, your worship,” one of the soldiers said to Fen’Falon. Fen’Falon turned her head away from the man as she grimaced. She would forever be saddled with these useless titles, apparently.

“The Temple must be ahead,” Solas said softly from behind her. Fen’Falon allowed herself a small moment to lean backwards into him before leading the others through a series of stone archways. More statues of all the Creators were here, almost as though standing guard for what lay ahead. To Fen’Falon’s utter shock, Fen’Harel’s reclining wolf statues were here as well, larger than the ones she had seen in the Exalted Plains.

They followed the path next to the river until they came to yet another crumbling wall, ivy and brush hanging from the sides. A split in the river seemed to lead to the north. Fen’Falon’s eyes followed the water under what had once been a bridge. The stone led her to the base of two enormous howling Fen’Harel statues, their bodies covered with runic whorls. It almost seemed like the wolves were standing guard for what lay beyond, and Fen’Falon was starting to hope that the Temple would hold answers to why Fen’Harel was so bloody important to Mythal.  Fen’Falon couldn’t help but wonder if the Dalish had gotten something wrong about the Dread Wolf.

A small group of red templars between the wolves gave credence to the idea that the Temple was just beyond, and Fen’Falon and her companions made quick work of the templars. They walked up stairs flanked by statues of Ghilan’nain and made their way through a long and dark series of arches. Haloed by the light at the end they could see an almost pristine structure.

“That must be the Temple of Mythal,” Fen’Falon said to the group in warning.

“Be ready,” Solas told her. “Corypheus will be there.”

Sounds of fighting echoed through the arched hallway, spurring them to move faster. They only needed to reach the eluvian before the magister, no easy task if he had left his red templars to delay them.

 


	61. Mythal's Temple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life's getting crazy - I'm about to move four states away down the East Coast, but I promise I'll post chapters as often as I can. Once I get settled in down there things should hopefully get more regular. Long chapter to make up for it - this is about 800 words more than the average for most chapters I post, so enjoy!

The entry to the Temple had been badly damaged at some point in the past - foliage was everywhere, covering what had once been walls and columns. Statues of Mythal graced the chamber, both large and small, easily recognised even through the ivy that clung to them. They passed a handful of bodies of red templars as Fen’Falon led the group to a railing on the edge of the walk.

On the level below them was a bridge flanked by statues of Mythal whose wings covered the face. The river fan fast and dangerous beneath the bridge, a warning to those who might dare attack the Temple. On the bridge itself were more of the strangely clad elves, their armour shining dark gold in the filtered sunlight, a contrast to the red templars who stood opposite them. Corypheus led the templars forward towards the elves.

Fen’Falon ducked down so the railing gave her cover and her companions followed suit. They could just barely hear the altercation below. With Corypheus here already, Fen’Falon’s mind was awhirl with plans to delay the magister, to keep him from reaching the eluvian. It was clear that the Inquisition forces wouldn’t make it to the Temple in time to assist.

The elf closest to the Inquisitor was clearly the leader - his armour slightly fancier, with tiered pauldrons and a hood over his head. He held a staff in his right hand, and held his left out in a halting gesture.

“ _Na melana sur, banallen_!” the elf shouted at the templars.

The lead templar turned to Corypheus. “They still think to stand against us, master,” he said. The voice revealed the templar to be Samson, and Fen’Falon sneered. Corypheus walked forward, dropping an elven corpse as he did.

“These are but remnants,” Corypheus intoned. “They will not keep us from the Well of Sorrows.”

Fen’Falon turned to Morrigan. “Well of Sorrows?” the elven mage hissed. Morrigan shrugged and shook her head. For a witch who claimed to know so much about elven history, this did not bode well. A thrumming noise brought their attention back to the bridge. The other elves on the bridge had crossed to the far side, leaving only their leader standing between the two statues of Mythal.

Corypheus advanced on the leader, his templars hanging back to watch. As the elven leader stepped onto the bridge, the thrumming noise increased and the Mythal statues began to glow bright blue. Corypheus looked up at the statues and dismissed them.

“Be honoured,” the freakish magister said. “Witness death at the hands of a new god!”

The elven leader backed up further, luring Corypheus onto the bridge. As the darkspawn magister crossed between the statues, the blue light flared and created a wall across, trapping Corypheus within the light. The magister walked forwards even as the light sparked and the noise increased. He stepped towards the elven leader and picked the slight warrior up by the face, clearly intending to kill him.

Fen’Falon moved as though to surge to her feet, intent on defending the elf on the bridge. Solas’s hand on her back held her in place though, and he shifted his hand back and forth as if to say not yet. They looked back towards the bridge.

Even as Corypheus raised his hand to crush the elf, the light turned golden, blinding in its brilliance. Thick lines of light streamed from the statues and peeled the flesh from the magister’s bones. Red lyrium fell off in chunks and vanished before it hit the ground and the light grew brighter and brighter. The statues flared a final time before exploding, taking all evidence of the magister with them and flinging the strange elf backwards onto the bridge. Chunks of statue flew everywhere, forcing Morrigan to duck as a brightly blue piece made contact with the wall behind them. All that remained on the edge of the bridge was a charred sunburst circle. The templars were nowhere in sight.

Morrigan was the first down the stairs towards the bridge, Fen’Falon following close behind. Bodies of Grey Wardens - some of the last of Corypheus’s honour guard - and red templars were strewn about. Some had clearly met their end at the hands of the strange elves and a small handful seemed to have been killed by the explosion that destroyed Corypheus.

Noise from ahead drew Fen’Falon’s attention to the other side of the bridge. The red templars were chasing after the elves through a set of doors at the far end. A squelching sound from behind the Inquisitor’s group echoed through the entry room. The body of a Grey Warden was...shifting, pulling itself into an upright position. A sharp crack and movement from an arm suggested bones either breaking or being forced into position. Slowly, with more cracking and squelching, the body stood, then vomited a shower of blood. As the corpse fell back to the ground, it looked less and less human.

“Corypheus,” Fen’Falon breathed.

“It cannot be,” Morrigan said.

A claw-fingered hand burst from the corpse in a spray of dark blood. “Across the bridge, now!” Fen’Falon shouted. She grabbed Cole by the arm to get him moving even as she ran for the bridge. The group of five raced over the span for the doors, Fen’Falon checking behind them. She watched as Corypheus rose from the Grey Warden’s corpse, the magister’s head tilted up towards the sky. A screech heralded the arrival of Corypheus’s pet dragon and the group redoubled their efforts to get within the Temple proper.

They pushed the doors shut as a group just in time to block the red lyrium dragonfire. As the doors touched each other, a chime sounded and they glowed golden. Sealed against all outside, unless Fen’Falon missed her guess. Fen’Falon sank against the door, her legs shaky with relief. Corypheus had resurrected himself. It explained how Haven had been absolutely useless to him, but only further research would explain the rest. Fen’Falon had a feeling that his resurrection using a Grey Warden body was relevant, and had something to do with why he was able to construct a false Calling.

Another long hallway lay ahead of them, saplings and bushes growing along the edges. Nature was reclaiming what had once been a magnificent Temple. Trees grew tall and proud next to ivy-covered walls, and still Fen’Falon’s breath was taken away by the beauty of the Temple. She thought she might the first of the Dalish to set foot here in a very long time.

“At last,” said Morrigan. “Mythal’s sanctum. Let us proceed before Corypheus interferes.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Morrigan,” Fen’Falon replied. A slight grin took the sting from her words.

The hall led into a courtyard where the flora had clearly once been kept in some semblance of order. In the center of the courtyard was an odd rectangular platform divided into smaller square sections with intricate designs carved into the stone. The center of the platform held pillars of stone on a raised bed of short grasses and flowers. Behind the platform were stairs leading up - the first rise led up to a landing which then split into a set of stairs running perpendicular to both the left and the right of the center, up to a second landing. The second landing connected the tops of the stairs and overlooked the entire courtyard, and a door was set into the exact center. On either side of the door was an enormous statue of Mythal in her warrior form, armor and a helm covering her completely.

“If he wants a mirror...why’d he say he’s here for a ‘well of sorrows’?” asked the Iron Bull. Fen’Falon shot the Qunari a grin - he had asked the very question she wanted an answer to.

“I…” Morrigan started.

“You don’t know, do you?” Fen’Falon said.

“I am uncertain of what he referred to.”

“What you mean is that you don’t know. You were guessing. Corypheus might not be after this eluvian - it might not even be here!” Fen’Falon said bitterly.

Morrigan looked unhappy. “Yes, I was wrong. Does that please you?”

Fen’Falon didn’t answer, instead simply glared at Morrigan.

“Whatever the Well of Sorrows might be, Corypheus wants it,” said Morrigan. “And thus you must keep it from his grasp.”

“Obviously,” Fen’Falon replied. “Or did you honestly believe that we would say ‘oh, nevermind, no eluvian here, let’s just let Corypheus have this Well!’?”

Morrigan had no answer to the Inquisitor’s biting sarcasm.

“Creators protect me from people who think they know everything,” Fen’Falon muttered under her breath.

Fen’Falon looked up at the door at the top of the courtyard. “Let’s just find this Well before Corypheus’s people do,” she said.

The group followed Fen’Falon down a short set of stairs into the courtyard. They fanned out, searching for any surprises that might have been left behind by Corypheus’s men. Along the walls that enclosed the courtyard on either side of the platform were pools fed by miniature waterfalls, though no one could find the source of the water. Finding nothing, their attention was soon brought back to the two pillars in the center.

Fen’Falon ascended the five steps up to the platform and approached a pillar. As her feet touched a section of square, a soft blue glow rose from within the carved stone and a low chime sounded. Morrigan, ever eager to show off, also joined Fen’Falon on the now-glowing section of stone.

Ancient elvhen writing decorated the pillar - Fen’Falon could make out a word or two on the side facing her, but the rest was a mystery. So much lost, she thought sadly. She looked over at the resident “expert” to see if Morrigan could fare any better.

“ _Atishal vir abelasan_ ,” Solas spoke something that sounded suspiciously like ancient elvhen. “It means ‘Enter the Path of the Well of Sorrows’.”

Fen’Falon made a note to have a talk with Solas later about his knowledge of elvhen language. To read it so fluently! Morrigan interrupted any further commentary from Solas with her own observations on the writing.

“There is something about knowledge…” Morrigan said. “Respectful, or pure... _shiven_... _shivennen_...Tis all I can translate. That it mentions the Well is a good omen.”

“Hmph. Guess we’re out of luck unless one of those temple elves drops a dictionary,” Fen’Falon said.

Morrigan wasn’t done. “Supplicants to Mythal would have first paid obeisance here. Following their path may aid entry.”

Fen’Falon shrugged - she had guessed as much, and further that the glowing sections of the platform were part of the path. The section she was standing on had made a sound that reminded her of a children’s tune sung by her clan, and careful testing of the others sections showed that they made up the remaining notes of the first verse. From there, it was quick work for Fen’Falon to run across the sections to play the verse. As the final note struck, the sections glowed brighter and a loud chime sounded. An answering chime came from behind and above the group, and Fen’Falon looked up to see the door at the top of the stairs glowing as well. Following the song must have unlocked the door.

“We should check the side passages first, in case the sound alerted anyone to our presence,” Fen’Falon told the others.

“Good plan, boss,” Iron Bull said.

The landings of the stairs were strewn with bodies of elves and templars alike, blood staining the ancient cobbles. They took the right-hand stairs first and search the balcony area, finding only Arbor Blessing plants and a door so overgrown with ivy that opening it was an exercise in futility. Fen’Falon led the others to the left hand balcony where a crude drawing in red depicted what Fen’Falon guessed was a cow or hart of some kind.

“Silence has reigned here for time beyond memory,” Solas commented in the silence.

“A shame the templars have disturbed it then, _ma fen_ ,” replied Fen’Falon. The door on this side was open, leading into a darkened room and beyond that a balcony that overlooked the Arbor Wilds. At the far end lay a statue of Fen’Harel - one of the style that depicted him laying down, watching over those in front of him. He looked for all the world like a guard dog at rest, an image at odds with everything the Dalish taught about the ancient trickster god.

“Why would this be here?” Morrigan asked.

“Don't you know already?” Fen’Falon said.

“It depicts the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel.”

Fen’Falon opened her mouth to deliver a scathing reply and was cut off as the witch continued.

“In elven tales, he tricks their gods into sealing themselves away in the Beyond for all time. Setting Fen’Harel in Mythal’s greatest sanctum is as blasphemous as painting Andraste naked in the Chantry.”

“ _Their_ gods, Morrigan? Did you forget I, too, am Dalish?” Fen’Falon snapped. “My clan sets statues of the Dread Wolf outside our camp. They’re meant to frighten harmful spirits.”

“Perhaps,” said Morrigan. “I thought the ancient elves above quaint superstitions.”

Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes in anger. If they didn’t figure out how to stop Corypheus soon, she had half a mind to kill the blasted witch herself, useful or not.

“For all your...knowledge, Lady Morrigan,” Solas interjected. By the sound of it, Solas was just as annoyed by Morrigan’s posturing as the Inquisitor. “You cannot resist giving legend the weight of history. The wise do not mistake one for the other.”

“Pray tell,” said Morrigan. “What meaning does our elven ‘expert’ sense lurking behind this?”

“None we can discern by staring at it,” snapped Solas.

“We can discuss this _after_ we’ve finished what we came here to do,” Fen’Falon said. She had a feeling that if this discussion went on any longer both herself and Solas would murder Morrigan on the spot for her insults to the Dalish and to the ancient elvhen.

“The inhabitants of this Temple may not appreciate guests, _vhenan_ ,” Solas said.

“I’ve noticed,” Fen’Falon said dryly. She led the group back towards the now-glowing door, and with a push opened it into the hall beyond.

 


	62. The Petitioner's Path

They were greeted by the sound of rocks falling and a cry of triumph. One level above their entry point stood Samson, leader of the Templars, and two red-lyrium-infected sods. Fen’Falon could almost feel sorry for them if she didn’t know how deadly the red lyrium made the infected Templars in battle.

“Hold them off,” Samson cried out. He pointed at Fen’Falon and the others and the lyrium monsters scrambled to obey. At his words, the temple elves appeared from the shadows with grim faces and half-loaded bows. This was not going to be a pretty fight.

“Don’t attack the elves,” Fen’Falon told her companions. “Not if you can help it. They are my people and I would not have them harmed unless necessary.”

“Understood, Boss,” the Iron Bull said.

“Of course, _vhenan_ ,” said Solas. Solas looked at the other elves, almost as if searching for a familiar face, unless Fen’Falon misread him. More questions for later.

The appearance of the elves seemed to be Samson’s cue to vanish, apparently jumping down into a hole of his creation. Fen’Falon had at first thought the explosive sounds as they entered were the Templar breaking through a door, but it seemed as though her guess had been wrong. A handful of other lyrium-blighted people joined the pending battle and began to attack the elves in earnest.

Fen’Falon spun her staff and aimed carefully, trying her best to avoid hitting the elves - above all else, she preferred to not be seen as an enemy by choice to the temple elves. The Inquisitor and Solas moved as one, their backs to each other, protective and fierce. Bull body-slammed a lyrium creature before smashing its head in with his war-axe, Morrigan ignored everyone and fought as though she were the only person there, and Cole was a whisper and a shadow, everywhere at once and yet nowhere at all.

A grim smile stole across Fen’Falon’s face when the last of their adversaries fell. Near as she could tell, no one had killed a temple elf, leaving the guardians to the lyrium creatures instead. High on adrenaline, she kissed Solas briefly before gathering the others back to her.

Elven corpses littered the floor, and a couple were even in the low pool in the center of the room. Lyrium monsters lay in pieces around the large tree roots, blood staining the bark a horrible brown colour.

“Come on, we may still catch them,” Fen’Falon said. Flowers and grasses rustled under her _shemlen_ boots as she ran for the stairs. She signaled the others to follow and they made their way up to the upper level that Samson had vanished from.

As they reached the edge of the hole Samson had torn in the floor of the temple, Morrigan suddenly brought herself to a halt and planted herself in between the rest of the group and the gap.

“Hold, a moment,” the witch said. “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination.”

Fen’Falon looked at Morrigan in puzzlement. What in the Creators’ names was the witch on about now?

“We should walk the petitioner’s path, as before,” Morrigan continued.

Solas glanced at Cole for a moment before speaking. “In this case, I must agree with the witch.” Fen’Falon stifled a grin at his tone - Solas agreeing with Morrigan! “This is ancient ground,” he continued, “deserving of our respect.”

“You see the urgency,” said Morrigan. “We _cannot_ find the Well of Sorrows unprepared.”

Fen’Falon growled before an argument could start. “If you would all just let me get a word in edgewise!”  she snapped. Everyone turned to look at her, words that had been on the tips of their tongues now held back.

“Morrigan,” Fen’Falon said. “You seem awful eager to reach the Well.”

“Are we not all eager to stop Corypheus from achieving his mad plan?” replied Morrigan. Fen’Falon shook her head - more dancing around implications from the witch.

“It sounds like what _you_ want is the Well,” Fen’Falon retorted. Morrigan gestured at the flora that had overgrown the temple.

“There is...a danger to the natural order,” said the witch. “Legends walked Thedas once, things of might and wonder. Their passing has left us all the lesser. Corypheus would squander the ancient power of the Well. I would have it restored.”

Suspicious words coming from someone who didn’t claim to know what it was before coming here, Fen’Falon thought. She put thought to words.

“You barely know what the Well _is_ and you want to _restore_ it?” said Fen’Falon.

“Yes!” Morrigan said. “Is Thedas so full of wonders that we should leave them to die one by one? Mankind blunders through the world, crushing what it does not understand: elves, dragons, magic...the list is endless.” If the witch weren’t so cagey and suspiciously motivated, Fen’Falon could almost have believed the look of sorrow and sympathy that Morrigan had plastered on her face.

“We must stem the tide or be left with nothing more than the mundane. This I know to be true,” Morrigan finished.  Fen’Falon snorted in disbelief. “I read more in the first chamber than I revealed,” said the witch. “It said a great boon is given to those who use the Well of Sorrows...but at a terrible price.”

“What _exactly_ did that altar say about the Well of Sorrows, Morrigan?” Fen’Falon asked. Of all the times to withhold information, inside the Temple of Mythal was currently ranking as one of the worst.

“Like most elven writing, it was insufferably vague,” Morrigan replied. Fen’Falon somehow doubted that. “The term I deciphered was _halam’shivanas_ , meaning the sweet sacrifice of duty. It implies the loss of something personal for duty’s sake. Yet for those who served at this temple, a worthwhile trade.”

“Did you not trust me enough to tell me of this when you read it?”

“I hoped to find more information. If I intended to cheat you, I would have feigned ignorance entirely.” Like you did about the Well to begin with, Fen’Falon thought uncharitably. “My priority is your cause, but if the opportunity arises to save the Well, I am willing to pay the cost.”

“And gain what?”

“That is what we must discover. The rituals may point the way.”

“People are dying outside while we stand here,” Cole said. Fen’Falon winced. “If we use the tunnel, more of our soldiers can flee.”

“Thank you, Cole. He’s right. We’re wasting time talking here,” Fen’Falon said. “We’ll walk the Path - I would not see my people’s history dishonoured in so crude a fashion as what Samson did.”

Cole looked unhappy at this announcement, but nodded to show that he would follow Fen’Falon anyways.

Three rooms made up the path, each decorated with the statues of a different Creator. The first room’s antechamber housed another giant statue of Mythal, flanked by mosaics of Falon’Din.

“Who is that?” Iron Bull asked.

“Falon’Din, our Guide to the Dead,” Fen’Falon said. “My clan’s hunters would invoke him when we fought bandits.”

“And yet no one speaks of his vanity,” Solas commented.

“You know other legends?” Fen’Falon asked as she worked her way through the Path.

“It was said that his need for adulation and adoration was so great that he started wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn’t bow filled lakes as wide as oceans. Mythal rallied the gods, once the shadow of Falon’Din’s hunger stretched across her own people. It was almost too late. Falon’Din only surrendered when his brethren bloodied him in his own temple.”

“You make him sound deranged,” Fen’Falon said.

“No story is dramatic if the people in it act sensibly,” Solas replied. Fen’Falon inclined her head to concede that point to her wolfish _vhenan_. She made her obeisance to the halla statue at the top of the short stairs, brother to one not even fifty feet to its right, and thus completed the ritual for this room. The exit from the room bore a mosaic of June, god of craftsmen, and led the group out into the lower level of the hall once more. Fen’Falon turned to look behind her and saw that the archway was glowing blue, as the door from the courtyard had earlier.

They pressed onwards across the pool and into the next room of the Path. An antechamber with another mosaic led into a significantly smaller room. A platform with statues of Andruil rose before them, clues to the Path Fen’Falon needed to walk in how the arrows were points and the tiles laid out. Unlike the first part of the Path, this room’s clues told a story of Andruil that had to have been recited through the ages - how Andruil fell to hunting in the Void, and in turn became corrupted by it. Fen’Falon followed the story, paying respects to the statues as she passed them and mimicking Andruil in the parts of the story where the Keeper had always done so in her tellings. Fen’Falon startled a bird in her retelling, the flap of its wings breaking the otherwise silent room.

“There’s one more room, I think,” Fen’Falon told the group. Back up on the upper level was a door opposite the one they would enter after completing the Path. This final room lacked an antechamber entirely, opening instead onto the Path itself. A third mosaic of June looked out over a path whose corners held statues of a resting Fen’Harel. A small garden area in the center was flanked by two howling wolf statues, presumably of Fen’Harel as well, given how closely they matched the statues that Clan Lavellan used to ward off enemies. To Fen’Falon, the statues gave her an odd sense of welcome and safety, completely at odds with everything she had ever been told of the Dread Wolf.

Regardless of her feelings on the statues, she had to complete the Petitioner’s Path. There was no story here, nor song. Only a series of tiles much like those from the courtyard, and lever that seemed to grant access to a second half of the platform. Fen’Falon walked around the platform, her quick mind optimising a path that would light the tiles in what she hoped was the correct order. Once she had an idea for the path, she put thought into action and began to run across the tiles, weaving in between the bases of the statues to pull the lever at the right moment and continue the lighting. The glow flared as she stepped over the last tile, signalling a successful completion.

“That’s the Path, unless I’m dreadfully wrong,” Fen’Falon announced to the others. “Let’s get this over with.” The final door glowed blue, somehow a warm and welcoming colour. A set of six shrouded dragon statues guarded the door, and Fen’Falon bowed to each in turn before she laid a single finger on it.

It opened at the Inquisitor’s touch onto what she could only describe as a throne room. Tiles that gleamed golden laid out the floor, and an upper level bounded by balcony railings jutted out into an address platform of sorts. Perhaps this had once been the prayer room, where the High Priest or Priestess of Mythal would stand on the platform to lead the faithful in worship of Mythal. A sense of unease fluttered its way through Fen’Falon as they walked deeper into the chamber.

Her intuition was born out when the doors slammed shut behind them all and they were surrounded by temple elves with drawn bows.

 


	63. Sorrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post today! (7/30) Go back to chapter 62 if you didn't catch it earlier and read that first!
> 
> Consider this a present - I move to Georgia tomorrow and won't have enough internet to post these for the next two weeks. I promise it's worth the wait!

An elf in golden armour and long cloak appeared on the platform. His hood was up, casting his face partially into shadow.

“ _Venavis_ …” the mystery elf said. His voice resonated inside the chamber, the timbre of it reminding Fen’Falon of Solas during the early days of the Inquisition. “You...are unlike the other invaders. You have the features of those who call themselves elvhen. You bear the mark of that which is...familiar. How has this come to pass? What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

“Who _are_ you?” Fen’Falon asked.

The strange elf put a hand over his breast. “I am called Abelas. We are Sentinels, tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place. Our numbers diminish with each invasion. I know what you seek,” Abelas said bitterly. “Like all who have come before, you wish to drink from the _Vir’Abelasan_.”

“The ‘Place of the Well of Sorrows’,” Morrigan whispered to Fen’Falon. “He speaks of the Well!” Fen’Falon rolled her eyes - she guessed as much from the context.

“It is not _for_ you. It is not for _any_ of you,” Abelas said harshly.

Fen’Falon spent a moment in silence, processing the words of the Sentinel.

“So, you’re actual ancient elves?” she asked finally. “From before the Imperium destroyed Arlathan?”

“The _shemlen_ did not destroy Arlathan,” Abelas said. “We elvhen warred upon ourselves. By the time the doors to this sanctuary closed, our time was over. We awaken only when called, and each time find the world more foreign than before. It is meaningless. We endure. The _Vir’Abelasan_ must be preserved.”

“What _is_ the _Vir’Abelasan_ exactly?”

“It is a path, one walked only by those who toiled in Mythal’s favour.”

“He speaks of priests, perhaps?” Morrigan whispered.

“More than that you need not know,” Abelas said.

“Morrigan, shush,” Fen’Falon told the witch. Fen’Falon spoke next on a hunch, on a sneaking suspicion that had been growing about her _vhenan_. “Solas? Perhaps he’ll listen to you?”

“What shall I say, Inquisitor?” Solas said. “Shall I sway him from a millenia of service by virtue of our shared blood? He clings to all that remains of his world, because he lacks the power to restore it.” And with his words Fen’Falon’s suspicions became a full-blown theory - Solas had to be elvhen himself. It was the only way to explain the oddities she had begun to notice. And it certainly explained his attitude towards the Dalish. Fine, if Solas wouldn’t attempt to reason with Abelas, then Fen’Falon would have to do so.

“Our people have lost everything. They need you,” she told the elvhen. “They could learn from you!”

“ _Our_ people?” Abelas retorted. He gestured angrily. “The ones we see in the forest, shadows wearing _vallaslin_? You are _not_ my people. And you have invaded our sanctum as readily as the _shemlen_.”

Were the markings she could see on his face somehow not _vallaslin_ , Fen’Falon wondered.

“We knew this place was sacred,” Fen’Falon said. “We’ve respected it as best we could! We even avoided hurting your Sentinels unless we had no choice.”

Abelas shook his head and made an indecipherable noise. After a long moment of silence he spoke once more. “I believe you,” he said. “Trespassers you are, but you have followed the Rites of Petition. You have shown respect to Mythal. If these others are enemies of yours, we will aid you in destroying them. When this is done, you will be permitted to depart...and never return.”

Fen’Falon didn’t respond immediately.

“This is our goal, is it not?” Solas asked her. “There is no reason to fight these Sentinels.”

“Consider carefully,” Morrigan spoke. “You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the Well for your own.” Fen’Falon arched an eyebrow at the witch - the more Morrigan tried to convince Fen’Falon that the Well could be useful, the more Fen’Falon became sure that Morrigan wanted it for herself.

Fen’Falon took a step forward. “I accept your offer,” she told Abelas.

“You will be guided to those you seek,” the Sentinel said. He gestured to his right and Fen’Falon looked to see an ancient female Sentinel in front of a door that had not previously been there. “As for the _Vir’Abelasan_ , it will not be despoiled. Even if I must destroy it myself.”

Abelas turned and walked to the back of the platform, melding into the shadows beyond once more. Morrigan’s face scrunched up in anger and the witch ran forwards.

“No!” the witch cried, and she transformed herself into a raven. The raven flew up to the upper platform, following Abelas into the depths of the temple.

“Morrigan!” Fen’Falon cried after the witch, anger colouring her voice. “Dammit.”

They followed the elder elf into another room and then into a secret hallway through the temple. Through rooms decorated with ancient mosaics and statues of each of the Creators. The guide finally stopped in a room with mosaics of Fen’Harel, and a golden statue of the Wolf himself at rest, just like the others that decorated the Temple of Mythal.

“Boss, do you have any idea how much this room is worth?” Iron Bull asked aloud.

“We did not come this far just to cart off the last of elvhen glory,” Solas said sharply.

The guide opened a hidden door in the wall and gestured for the group to continue. A painted hart in yellow graced the wall immediately beyond the door, appearing to run into the secret hallway that had been revealed. The room at the end overlooked various levels that they had passed through on the way up, showing templars and blighted monsters fighting with the Sentinel elves for control of the temple. Opposite the overlook were two sets of double doors, taller than most houses and split by a low wall. The end of the wall was capped by a small statue of Mythal.

There was no time for wonder and exploration though. The presence of the red templars below meant they had only a few minutes to get to the Well and assist Abelas in protecting it, not to mention figuring out what in the Void was going on with Morrigan. Another set of doors lay beyond, and Fen’Falon opened them to see what had once been a large vaulted chamber. The ceiling had since collapsed, allowing the flora to flourish over the centuries, which lent the area a feeling of wildness that seemed at odds with the relative peacefulness of the temple.

Fighting sounds rang up from the level below and Fen’Falon led the others in a run down the stairs.

“So Mythal endures,” Solas said, almost to himself. Fen’Falon reminded herself to bother him when they escaped this insane mess. Red lyrium tainted templars slew the last Sentinel bar Abelas as Fen’Falon reached the bottom of the stairs.

“You tough bastards,” Samson was telling his men. “The Chantry never knew what it was throwing away.”

“Samson,” a templar cried out as the group approached from behind. “Ser--watch out!”

Samson turned to see Fen’Falon running towards him. She stopped, unwilling to engage so dangerous an enemy in close quarters unless she could help it.

“Inquisitor,” Samson said. “You and those elf-things don’t know when to stop. You’ve hunted us half across Thedas. I should’ve guessed you’d follow us into this hole.”

“It’s over Samson,” Fen’Falon told him. “Surrender.”

“Never,” he spat. “Corypheus chose me twice. First as his General, now as the Vessel for the Well of Sorrows. You know what’s inside the Well? Wisdom. The kind of wisdom that can scour a world. I give it to Corypheus, and he can walk into the Fade without your precious Anchor.”

“You’re to be a ‘vessel’?” Fen’Falon asked. “What’s your part in it? What _is_ a vessel?”

“What else empties a well, Inquisitor? I’ll carry its power to Corypheus. One more task entrusted to me. Being force-fed Chantry lyrium was good for something. This armour makes me a living fortress - mind and body. I won’t forget a word of this Well’s knowledge. Corypheus will be unstoppable.”

Fen’Falon laughed at Samson. “Once Corypheus is that powerful, what need will he have for you? You’ll just slow him down.”

“You dare say that to my face?!” Samson shouted. “After you butchered my men? You’re no match for Corypheus. Even if you drink from the Well, you’ll never master its wisdom as he could.”

Samson smacked a palm against his armour and flexed. “ _This_ is the power the Chantry tried to bind,” the templar said as his armour began to glow an angry red. “But it’s a new world now. With a new god. So, Inquisitor, how will this go?”

Fen’Falon reached into one of her packs and removed a special rune stone. She had been working on it in secret with Dagna and the smith in the bowels of Skyhold - a way to disempower armour made with red lyrium. A smirk crept across the elven mage’s face at what she was about to do to Samson.

“Power’s all well and good,” Fen’Falon said, smugness lacing her tone. “Until it’s taken away.”

She activated the rune and watched as the glow was leached from Samson’s armour until the lyrium itself crumbled. Shards of red lyrium, too small to really be of use, littered the ground beneath the ex-Templar.

“What did you do?” Samson screamed. “ _What did you do?!_ My armour. It’s gone. The lyrium -- I _need_ it!”

“Tough shit, you big baby,” Fen’Falon taunted.

“Kill them all!” Samson shouted at his men. He drew a large warhammer and the battle was joined.

Fen’Falon did her best to keep her distance from the templars - it wouldn’t do to be struck by one of their weapons at this late a stage in the operation. Instead, she flung out chains of lightning that danced between their armour, electrocuting the enemy and giving Iron Bull and Cole openings with which to dispatch the templars. Solas kept Samson alternately frozen or on fire, distracting him until the other templars were dead and everyone could focus their attention on the General. They hammered the General with spells until he could stand no longer, and Fen’Falon approached him with her fadeblade in hand.

“Not the Well, you wretch,” Samson cursed the Inquisitor. “You can’t take it from Corypheus. You mustn’t…” Samson collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

“He isn’t ready to go yet,” Cole said.

Fen’Falon nodded. “Fine then. We’ll get the others to take him back to Skyhold to face judgement. Someone leave a note so that he isn’t killed by some overzealous soldier.”

Iron Bull penned a quick note and Fen’Falon tied it to Samson using a spare bit of cord.

The sound of footsteps in a hurry drew the group’s attention and they saw Abelas running for the outcropping that loomed above the floor. Summoned magic brought previously hidden stones into movement, creating a stairway up to the outcropping. Abelas ran up the steps as they formed, his feet sure and swift, and Fen’Falon followed. A raven dogged their path as well, and the race to the Well of Sorrows was on.

As Fen’Falon and Abelas reached the top, the raven pulled ahead of them, transforming back into Morrigan. She stood directly between Abelas and the pool of water that lay still, a tall eluvian against the wall behind it.

The Well of Sorrows itself.


	64. Nuvenin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have internet again! Move was successful and all that jazz, so now that my life is put back together I can get back to writing! Yay~!

When the black smoke of Morrigan’s transformation had cleared, the witch spoke.

“You heard his parting words, Inquisitor,” she said. “The elf seeks to destroy the Well of Sorrows!”

Abelas looked between Morrigan and the Inquisitor, an unkind expression on his ancient face. “So this sanctum is despoiled at last,” he remarked.

Solas watched as Fen’Falon joined Morrigan’s stance opposite Abelas, the Well now to one side of the opposing parties. Solas moved only enough to allow Iron Bull and Cole to join them on the Well’s platform, but did not move to the Inquisitor’s side. Ancient as he was, Solas was not sure that he could allow the Well’s destruction anymore than Abelas had been willing to allow its despoiling.

“You would have destroyed the well yourself, given the chance,” Morrigan spat at Abelas.

“To keep it from your grasping fingers. Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving!”

“Fool! You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows?”

“He already has,” Fen’Falon said quietly. Solas was not sure that the others even heard his _vhenan_ ’s words, so wrapped up were they in their argument.

“Enough, Morrigan,” Fen’Falon held up a hand to stave off Morrigan’s next words.

“You cannot honestly--” Morrigan began heatedly.

“I said _enough_ ,” snapped Fen’Falon. The mark on her hand flared briefly in response to the elven Inquisitor’s anger at the witch and Solas added that behaviour to his list of things to study with regards to the Anchor.

Morrigan took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself before speaking again. “The Well clearly offers power, Inquisitor. If that power can be turned against Corypheus, can you afford not to use it?”

“Do you even know what you ask?” Abelas asked them. Solas had a vague memory of this Well, but without further information, could not be sure that he was not misremembering. It had been centuries, after all.

Abelas faced the Well before speaking again. “As each servant of Mythal reached the end of their years,” he said, “they would pass their knowledge on through this. All that we were, all that we knew, would be lost forever.”

“It already is lost,” Fen’Falon said. “Look around you. Everything our people were - it’s already gone. Am I not proof enough of that?”

“It is, then,” Abelas said. A look of sadness, much like his namesake, came across Abelas’s face.

Solas could not let one of the People lose hope, not when he was so close to fixing things. “There are other places, friend,” he said to Abelas. “Other duties. Your people yet linger.”

“Elvhen such as you?” Abelas asked. Solas knew by the other elf’s inflection that Abelas knew Solas was no ordinary elvhen. But this was neither the time nor the place to reveal that to the others.

“Yes, such as I,” Solas said. His sharp ears caught Fen’Falon’s inhalation of breath at his words.

Abelas looked away from Solas and directed his next words to Fen’Falon. “You have shown respect to Mythal. And there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny. Is that your desire? To partake of the _Vir’Abelasan_ as best you can, to fight your enemy?”

“And what of the cost of partaking?” Fen’Falon asked. Solas hoped she was not seriously considering drinking the Well herself - there was no telling what effect that would have on her mind.

Abelas inclined his head. “No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost. The _Vir’Abelasan_ may be too much for a mortal to comprehend. Brave it if you must, but know you this: You shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.”

“Bound? To a goddess that no longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan scoffed.

“Bound. As we are bound,” Abelas replied. “The choice is yours.” Solas had noticed that all of the Sentinels wore Mythal’s _vallaslin_ \- bound forever by magic and blood to serve their goddess. By the sound of it, the Well would convey the same effect.

“Is it possible then that Mythal is still living?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Anything is possible,” said Abelas.

“Elven legend states that Mythal was tricked by Fen’Harel and banished to the Beyond,” Morrigan said. She was as wrong as ever, and Fen’Falon looked upset at Morrigan’s continued attempts to show off her knowledge of the People’s histories.

“‘Elven’ legend is wrong,” Abelas said flatly. “The Dread Wolf had nothing to do with her murder.”

Flashes of memory presented themselves to Solas of that dark day - the day when everything of their civilisation fell to pieces.

“Murder?” Morrigan said. “I said nothing of--”

“She was slain,” said Abelas, “if a god truly can be. Betrayed by those who destroyed this Temple. Yet the _Vir’Abelasan_ remains. As do we. That is something.”

“Are you leaving the Temple, then?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Our duty ends. Why remain?”

“There is a place for you, _lethallin_ , if you seek it,” Solas said. If he could convince Abelas to assist, perhaps Solas could complete his task even without the orb.

“Perhaps there are place the _shemlen_ have not touched,” said Abelas. “It may be that only _Uthenera_ awaits us. The blissful sleep of eternity, never to awaken. If fate is kind.”

“You could come with us,” Fen’Falon entreated the ancient elf. “Fight Corypheus. He killed your people.”

“We killed ourselves, long ago,” Abelas replied.

“ _Malas amelin ne halam, Abelas_ ,” Solas said as Abelas walked by. The Sentinel nodded his head briefly before continuing away from the Well of Sorrows, his duty now ended by their intrusion. Fen’Falon looked at him curiously, clearly wondering what Solas had said to Abelas.

“His name,” said Solas. He would have to lie here - Fen’Falon could not know. “ _Abelas_. It means ‘sorrow’. I said ‘I hoped he finds a new name’.”

Fen’Falon appeared to accept his explanation and turned with Morrigan to face the Well of Sorrows. The shallow pond had not stirred during their conversation with Abelas, ominous in its stillness.

“Note the intact eluvian,” Morrigan said smugly. “I was correct on that count at least.”

“It’s a threat then? Could Corypheus still use it to access the Fade?” Fen’Falon asked.

“You recall when I took you through my eluvian - I said each required a key? The Well is that key. Take its power, and Mythal’s last eluvian will be of no more use to Corypheus than glass.”

Morrigan paused and looked at the Well itself. “I did not expect the Well to feel so...hungry,” she said.

“We should move away, Morrigan,” Fen’Falon said. They were currently less than a foot from the edge of the pool, far too close for Solas’s liking.

“I am willing to pay the price the Well demands,” the witch said. “I am also the best suited to use that knowledge in your service.”

Solas scoffed at that. “Or more likely to use it for your own ends,” he said.

“What would you know of my ‘ends’, elf?” Morrigan sneered.

“You are a glutton drooling at the sight of a feast,” he said. “You cannot be trusted.”

“Of those present I alone have the training to make use of this,” said Morrigan. “Let me drink, Inquisitor.”

“You alone?!” Fen’Falon nearly shouted. “This is my heritage!”

“I have studied the oldest lore. I have delved into mysteries of which you could only dream! Can you honestly tell me there is anyone better suited?”

“What about you, Solas?” Fen’Falon turned to ask him. Solas was surprised, and mildly disturbed as well. If Fen’Falon was considering him for this, perhaps she was beginning to wonder about his past and his abilities.

“No,” he said, shorter than he’d ever been with Fen’Falon. “Do not ask me again. I must protest however, that you are even considering this, _vhenan_. Do not take Abelas’s words lightly. Being bound to Mythal is not something you can simply walk away from.”

“I would be the most suited, though,” Fen’Falon said.

“You lead the Inquisition,” said Morrigan. “This is not a risk you can afford to take.”

Fen’Falon allowed a tiny bit of laughter to escape her at Morrigan’s words. Solas knew as well as Fen’Falon that the ‘advisors’ were the true leaders, with Fen’Falon serving as a rally point and figurehead for the undereducated masses that followed them.

“I have the best chance of making use of the Well,” Morrigan continued. “For everyone. Let. Me. Drink.”

Morrigan’s vehemence was beginning to grate on Solas, and he could see that Fen’Falon was uncomfortable with the idea of letting this mystery witch use so great a tool.

“And the price?” Fen’Falon asked.

“Bound to the will of a dead god? It seems an empty warning.”

“Perhaps not as empty as you would like to believe,” Solas said.

“I hate to say it,” said Fen’Falon. “But Abelas’s plan to destroy the Well may be our best option.”

“What happens when Corypheus comes for you again? He is _immortal_. The wisdom of the Well may include a way to destroy him. Give me this and I fight at your side. I shall be your sword.”

“And at last the threat comes out to play,” Fen’Falon said. “Does anyone else have thoughts about this?”

“She is right about only one thing,” said Solas. “We should take the power which lies in that Well.”

“So many voices,” Cole said. “They would be in your head. Talking over you. You don’t want them.”

“If this can help against Corypheus, I say you take it,” the Bull said.

Fen’Falon grimaced, and Solas could see that those were not quite the comments that she had been hoping for.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” Solas said. “I must beg you not to drink from the Well. Let Morrigan be the one bound to Mythal for all time.”

“Enough deliberation,” Morrigan interrupted Solas. “Give me your decision.”

“I’m sorry Solas,” Fen’Falon said. “I cannot trust Morrigan with my people’s heritage, with my heritage. If anyone is to use the Well, it will be me.”

“No, _vhenan_!” Solas cried. The mere idea of her being bound to another was terrible to hold for Solas. Especially since she had no way to truly understand what being bound to Mythal would mean for her, not if Abelas’s comment could be taken to mean that the _vallaslin_ were still active in some way.

“So you will take what little knowledge you can understand, and let the rest go to waste?” Morrigan accused Fen’Falon.

“And who’s to say it will go to waste? Am I not the only elf still present and willing? Who are you to accuse me of wasting something as precious as actual memories from Arlathan and the Fall?”

“I still say it will be a waste.” Morrigan looked at Fen’Falon, anger written on the witch’s face. “I am forever balked by those who believe they know better than I. Drink if you will. For the sake of us all. But steel your will to do it.”

Fen’Falon looked back at Solas, then forward at the Well of Sorrows. He watched, unable to bring himself to move against his love, as she brushed past Morrigan and walked into the Well.

 


	65. Whispers in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I finally have another chapter for you! I actually have a job that requires me to be working while I get paid, so I don't have as much time to write as I used to. Next chapter should be out soon though - with Trespasser out (and AMAZING) I'm pretty damn motivated to get this moving faster.

Fen’Falon walked down the stairs into the pool of water, yet she didn’t get wet as a result. This small fact did nothing to quell the unease that gripped her as the Well reached waist-height. She cupped her hands and brought some of the strange liquid to her lips. The water of the Well had no taste but that of power. It was as though she somehow managed to drink a part of the Fade itself. If asked, Fen’Falon would later say that it reminded her of cinnamon and honeysuckle. Fen’Falon felt the power of the Well swirl around her until her world went dark.

Whispers. Snatches of conversations in languages she knew she didn’t know, but still somehow understood. Shouting and screaming and the voices of children she once had or would have or could never. The glimpse of morning dew on leaves and vines in a forest she had never visited. A temple resplendent in the green of a forest canopy and golden sunlight. A young elf receiving their vallaslin in an ancient magical ritual oddly similar to the one used by the Lavellan Keeper. Abelas training new acolytes. Abelas counseling someone against vengeance. Abelas caring for the golden statues of Fen’Harel around the Temple.

Darkness. Swirling red and green and purple, the cries of thousands, voices so deep as to shake the earth. Tevinter armies marching through elven lands, enslaving even those who had never been such. Corypheus making his attempt on the Golden City. An archdaemon, terrible to behold. Darkspawn. Red. Blood. Blackness.

Sight filtered back in slowly, creeping outward from the pupils of Fen’Falon’s eyes. She knelt in the center of the Well of Sorrows, its unfathomable liquid gone now, replaced by echoes of dark smoke with motes of starlight within. She stood and looked in every direction in an attempt to place herself. The Well was disorienting, and it took Fen’Falon a few moments to remember her name, much less that she was within the Temple of Mythal.

Solas was at her side, calling her name and asking if she was alright.

“I...yes. I’m fine. I think,” Fen’Falon said. The voices of the Well agreed with her - she was perfectly alright, her name was Vhefara, Tarelas, Nuthenin, Fethenlan…

“Fen’Falon?” Solas asked. “Are you sure you are alright, _ma vhenan_?”

She pulled herself to her feet in the now-empty pool, disoriented and unsteady on her feet. Bluish-black smoke shot through with tiny bolts of lightning gathered around her feet with every step, although she wasn’t sure that the others could see it. The elven woman shook her head to shoo the voices away. “I am. I am. Just...it’s distracting listening to everyone talking at once.”

Solas looked uncomfortable. “Fen’Falon….I am the only one speaking at this moment.”

Fen’Falon was confused. There were others - oh. The Well of Sorrows was talking to her, helping her sort through the centuries of accumulated wisdom to find what she needed to know about Corypheus. “ _Ir abelas_ , Solas. The Well is...overwhelming.”

A noise from outside her thoughts startled the whole group. Morrigan was the first to see it - Corypheus had come through the doors. The ancient magister let loose a cry of rage, then gathered his power and flung himself into the air. A trail of black smoke came from behind Corypheus as he flew towards the well, arms outstretched as though to keep everyone else there.

“He’s here!” shouted Fen’Falon. “Everyone through the mirror, quickly!” A wave of her hand on the glass surface and a brief thought brought the eluvian to life, her touch keeping the connection open to Morrigan’s eluvian at Skyhold.

Corypheus crackled with unspent magic, his rage lending him speed to reach the group. Fen’Falon passed through the eluvian just as Corypheus reached the edge of the Well, in time to see his progress halted by a Well spirit who came at the glass of the mirror, clearly intending to shatter it.

Solas caught Fen’Falon as she fell through Morrigan’s eluvian, his face being carefully kept neutral in the presence of others. Fen’Falon could see the rage in his eyes though - she knew he would have words with her about the decision to take in the Well.

Later, Fen’Falon would swear that Corypheus’s scream of rage could be heard even at Skyhold. The Temple of Mythal had been too close for comfort for all of them.

Once she had confirmed that everyone made it through from the Temple, Fen’Falon brought her hands together in front of the eluvian and closed it from their side.

“It is done,” Morrigan said. Fen’Falon gave the witch a disgusted look and left the room. Cullen and Cassandra would still be back in the Inquisition camps outside the Temple, which meant that Fen’Falon ought to let them know that she and her party had managed to end up back at Skyhold instead of the camp. A quick trip up to the tower where Leliana kept her ravens, and one of the birds was off to the camp to let the advisors there know that their Inquisitor was alive and well.

 

* * *

 

Fen’Falon was called in to a meeting with the advisors - and Morrigan, much to Fen’Falon’s dismay - almost immediately after they returned ahead of the army a week later. Near as she could tell, if the advisors had been involved in any of the battle in the Arbor Wilds, they hadn’t been left with scars.

Cullen started the meeting with news. “I’m pleased to report we won the battle, Inquisitor,” he said. “When you went through that mirror, Corypheus and his archdaemon fled the field. I’m not sure why.”

“What he wanted was no longer within the Temple,” Morrigan supplied. Fen’Falon found herself wondering if it would be worth it to eject Morrigan from the meeting.

“Perhaps,” Cullen allowed. “He spent so long trying to get into the Temple, he probably couldn’t have helped his forces by that point anyway.”

“Then Corypheus is finished?” Josephine said.

Leliana gave a half-nod. “If he is wise,” she said, “then he will hide and rebuild his strength before he attacks again.

_He will not hide_ , the Well said inside Fen’Falon’s mind.

“He won’t hide,” Fen’Falon told them.

Morrigan looked at Fen’Falon appraisingly. “You hear it,” said the witch. “The Well speaks to you.”

“As it should, Morrigan. It’s...voices. Whispering so faint I can hardly hear them.”

Morrigan sighed. “Oh, if only one who understood such voices had used the Well’s power instead.”

“Then we’d have to rely on _her_ interpretation of them and whatever she _chose_ to tell us,” Leliana pointed out.

“Have I not been forthcoming enough for you, Spymaster?” Morrigan retorted.

“Certainly not enough for me,” Fen’Falon said.

“I told you what the Well _could_ have done,” Morrigan said. “You should be hearing shouts from the heavens, not whispers!”

“And yet _I_ am the one with the Well’s power, Morrigan. Not you. Do not question my decision again,” Fen’Falon told the witch sharply.

Morrigan made a face, but did not respond directly. “Earlier you said you knew what needed to be done next. What did you mean?”

Fen’Falon allowed a small smile to steal across her lips. “The dragon _isn’t_ an archdaemon. It’s a dragon in which Corypheus has invested part of his power. If we can kill it, his ability to jump to other bodies will be disrupted for a while. Then we can kill _him_.”

“That’s...no simple task,” said Leliana. “Corypheus alone is powerful. But with his dragon…”

“There is a way,” Fen’Falon said. “But I’ll need Morrigan’s help.”

“The voices from the Well tell you that, do they?”

“Sarcasm isn’t necessary right now, witch.”

“Very well, Inquisitor. Speak to me when you are ready to begin this ‘plan’ of yours.” Morrigan stalked out of the War Room, and Fen’Falon breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you certain of this?” Josephine asked Fen’Falon after a moment.

Fen’Falon let out a rueful chuckle. “I don’t think ‘certain’ is the right word.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ll see to Skyhold’s defenses in the meantime.”

“Inquisitor,” Josephin said. “We have also received a letter from your clan asking for aid.”

“Aid in what, Josephine?”

“Apparently they are having some trouble with bandits.”

“Then send a detachment of soldiers to guard them!”

“We cannot do that, Inquisitor,” Leliana said. “They are in land belonging to the Duke of Wycome. To send our soldiers there now could spark an international incident.”

Fen’Falon understood, suddenly. She was not going to be a part of this decision - the next course of action had already been decided on by the advisors. She was simply being informed.

“I have written to the Duke and asked him to look into the matter,” said Josephine. “He will want to know there are bandits in his domain.”

“We’ll let you know once we hear back,” Leliana told the Inquisitor. Fen’Falon grimaced.

“Fine. Stand ready for our next move against Corypheus,” Fen’Falon told the advisors. Each of them gave the Inquisitor a shallow bow, deferring to the wisdom of the Well of Sorrows for the meantime. Fen’Falon was sure the tune would change before long, unless her luck was finally with her.

 


	66. Valley of Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're finally here. I left a lot of the game dialogue in tact, because this sequence is too big of a deal to mess with it.

After a much needed night’s sleep Fen’Falon sought out Solas. Between taking in the Well of Sorrows, and this business with Clan Lavellan in Wycome, she desperately needed to be near her ‘Wolf’. She checked his rooms just in case - though the chances of finding him there were about as slim as Sera having a change of heart and returning to the Inquisition.

As usual, Fen’Falon found Solas in the library tower, sketching away at the latest part of the mural.

“It will depict your success against Corypheus at the Temple, vhenan,” Solas said as she walked in. Fen’Falon gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she looked at the rough outlines.

“I’m sure it will be just as good as the rest, Solas.”

Solas turned away from the fresco. “We need to discuss what occurred in the Temple, ma harellan.” His voice sounded more serious than she had heard it since Haven. Since before they had started stealing kisses on the march and in the hallways of Skyhold.

Fen’Falon grew concerned. “What about the Temple, Solas?”

His voice grew distraught. “I begged you not to drink from the Well! Why could you not have listened?”

“Solas--” She was interrupted before she could finish with ‘this isn’t the place for this discussion’. The mages in the library, and Dorian, must be having fun listening to this, Fen’Falon thought.

“You gave yourself into the service of ancient elven god!”

“What does that mean, exactly? Abelas wasn’t clear.”

“It means you are Mythal’s creature now,” said Solas, sadness in his eyes. “Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. You don’t even believe in the ancient elven gods!”

“I don’t believe they were gods, no. But I believe that they existed!”

Well that was a change of tune from Solas, Fen’Falon thought. Perhaps meeting Abelas had changed something for him?

“ _Something_ existed to start the legends,” Solas continued. “If not gods, then mages, or spirits, or something we’ve never seen. And you are bound to one of them now.”

Solas paused in his rant, visibly calming himself. “I suppose it is better you have the power than Corypheus. Which leads to the next logical question. What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?”

A very good question indeed, assuming Fen’Falon even survived that final confrontation. She hadn’t really thought about it yet, but if she had to give an answer now…

“What will I do?” Fen’Falon scoffed. “I’m not arrogant enough to think it’s my decision alone. Whatever happens, we’ll do it together, Solas.”

“You think to share your power, to avoid the temptation to misuse it. A noble sentiment, but ultimately a mistake.”

“Why is that a mistake? I might not even have a choice in the matter!”

“Because while one selfless woman may walk away from the lure of power’s corruption, no group has ever done so.”

Fen’Falon’s eyes glinted with determination. “If other members of the Inquisition overstep their bounds, I’ll be there to stop them. Just like I’ll stop Corypheus.”

Solas looked relieved. “Ah, then I misunderstood. You will be first among equals. Good.”

“Good?” Fen’Falon was confused - everything so far had indicated that Solas didn’t care for power, much less those in positions of power.

“You...have not been what I expected, Inquisitor. You have...impressed me.” Fen’Falon tried not to blush at the compliment and failed, her cheeks turning faintly pink and threatening to drown out the fine lines of her _vallaslin_.

She tilted her head in an unspoken query.

“You must not let false modesty allow you to pass your power to someone else,” said Solas. “There are few regrets sharper than watching fools squander what you sacrificed to achieve.”

Unless Fen’Falon missed her guess completely, that sounded like something personal for Solas. How curious.

A long moment of silence passed.

Solas broke it first. “Forgive my melancholy,” he said. “Corypheus has cost us too much. The Temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate. The orb he carries, and its stolen power...That, at least, we may still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive.”

This sombre mood did not suit at all, Fen’Falon thought. But how to break it…? She fought to keep a mischievous grin from stealing across her face.

“You’re being grim and fatalistic in hope of getting me into bed, aren’t you?” Fen’Falon joked.

“I _am_ grim and fatalistic,” Solas said, and Fen’Falon thought for a moment that her attempt at a joke had completely failed. “Getting you into bed is just an enjoyable side benefit.”

Fen’Falon let out a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding - her pathetic joke hadn’t failed!

Solas arched an eyebrow at her and smirked very faintly. “Come with me, _vhenan_ ,” he said, gesturing towards the upper halls of Skyhold. She followed him through the library above and into a little-used passage that connected the upper floors to the tower.

Some turns later Fen’Falon realised they were heading for her chambers above the war room.

“Why are we going to my rooms, Solas?”

“Patience, _da'_ _harellan_.”

Fen’Falon grimaced - patience was definitely not one of her virtues. Finally, they reached her rooms, and Solas gestured for her to open the door.

Inside the room, he led her to her bed.

“You know I was just kidding about getting me into bed, right, ma fen?” Fen’Falon said, panicking slightly. She thought they’d been over this already, that he was accepting of her differences.

“I know, _vhenan_. This is not about sex. I have something to show you. In the Fade,” he clarified, at her confused expression.

“Oh! Well, alright then. What should I do?”

“Just lean back on your bed, I will take care of the rest.”

Fen’Falon did so, still amazed by how soft and welcoming pillows and thick downy blankets could feel. She still preferred the floor, or better yet, the balcony, but the bed made a great space for reading. Her eyes closed slowly, her desire to see this surprise warring with wanting to keep an eye on Solas. Seeing the Fade won out, and Fen’Falon’s breathing evened out as she drifted into sleep.

* * *

 

Fen’Falon found herself walking hand-in-hand with Solas, their strides matching perfectly even as he led her forward into the cave. It was a place they had found in Crestwood, the delicate ivy climbing the cavern walls, the flowers and grasses reaching for what light shone through the small opening in the top. Bushes taller than either elf ringed the perimeter, with the occasional tree standing straight and proud above them. The most arresting feature of the cave was the waterfall, flanked by two enormous halla statues carved in the elvhen fashion. Fen’Falon wondered if this had once been some space dedicated to Ghilan’nain, or if was built after the Fall.

It was quiet in the cave, only the rushing sounds of the waterfall and the occasional cricket to break the silence. Fen’Falon allowed it, instead choosing to study the way her hand fit so nicely into Solas’s, the way his legs looked when he walked like this - with confidence. It was a confidence she hadn’t seen since their flight from Haven, when they had discussed Corypheus for the first time in front of a Veilfire torch.

Finally, Solas spoke. “The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?”

“I had thought it was just the feeling of being with you,” Fen’Falon said. Had she really just said that? A blush coloured her cheeks - she had only intended to think that, never to voice it.

Solas brought a hand up to her face and ran his thumb along the lines on her cheek. “I was…trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me,” he said. His hand returned to his side, and Fen’Falon brought her own up to feel along her face where he had been touching her.

Fen’Falon grinned wryly. “I’m listening,” she told Solas. “And I can offer a few suggestions.”

Solas grinned in response. “I shall bear that in mind. For now, the best gift I can offer is the truth.”

The grin vanished from Fen’Falon’s face. In an instant, all her suspicions about Solas not being who and what he said he was were confirmed. She’d been right, there was something _more_ to Solas.

She started to ask Solas a question, but was stopped when he continued, “You are unique. In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade.”

Both of Solas’s hands now held on to Fen’Falon’s, and his eyes softened. “You have become important to me,” he said, “more important that I could have imagined.”

“As you are to me,” Fen’Falon replied. Solas’s small grin looked sad to her, and she started to worry about this “truth” that he was going to reveal to her.

“Then what I must tell you,” Solas said, “the truth…” Solas paused, then continued as if Fen’Falon hadn’t noticed. “Your face. The _vallaslin_. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

“They’re meant to honour the elven gods.” Fen’Falon wasn’t really surprised that Solas had slipped out of telling her the truth she had begun to suspect.

“No. They are slave markings. Or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Fen’Falon exclaimed. “My clan’s Keeper said they honoured the gods. These are their symbols.”

“Yes, that at least is correct. A noble would mark his slaves to honour the god he worshipped. After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot.”

Fen’Falon bit back tears. “So this is, what? Just another thing the Dalish got wrong? Like Mythal? Like the Temple?”

Solas nodded slightly. “I am sorry,” he said.

Fen’Falon took a deep breath - she had to tell her Keeper soon. “We try to preserve our culture,” she said, more to herself than in response to Solas. “And this is what we keep? Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?”

“Don’t say that,” said Solas. “For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right.”

“Yeah right,” Fen’Falon said bitterly.

“They made you.” It was so corny that Fen’Falon had to grin. For all the unpleasant truths being revealed, this was still one of the most romantic nights of her life.

“I didn’t tell you this to hurt you,” Solas said as Fen’Falon retrieved her hands from his. “If you like, I know a spell. I can remove the _vallaslin_.”

Fen’Falon thought for a moment, though it wasn’t a hard decision. The Dalish always said ‘Never again shall we submit’. If her tattoos were slave markings, then they had to go.

“If what you’re saying is true…” she began.

“It is.”

“Then...My people vowed never to submit to slavery,” Fen’Falon said fiercely.

“I’m so sorry for causing you pain,” said Solas. “It was selfish of me. I look at you and I see what you truly are. And you deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.”

“Then please, Solas. Remove them. Take the _vallaslin_ away.”

“Sit,” Solas said. Fen’Falon perched herself on a nearby rock and Solas knelt in front of her. His hands began to glow as he brought them up in front of Fen’Falon’s face. The sensitive skin around the _vallaslin_ began to tingle, and Fen’Falon closed her eyes, focusing on the reason for doing this. The tingling moved from her chin up to her nose and grew more intense - now it felt like the pins and needles she got after sitting on a leg for too long while reading. As the sensation finally passed over her hairline, her face felt...empty, almost. It seemed like she could feel the wind on her face in a new way, a way she hadn’t felt it since she was a child. More than that, despite the Well’s presence in her mind, her thoughts felt louder, as if the _vallaslin_ had been dampening them.

The glow on Solas’s hands vanished, and Solas looked at Fen’Falon as though he were seeing her for the first time.

“ _Ar lasa mala revas_ ,” he said. “You are free.”

“ _Ma_ _nuvenin_ , Solas.” The two elves stood at the same time, nearly returning to where they had been before. A shy smile on Fen’Falon’s face gave away her thoughts, she was sure. She hadn’t wanted to kiss Solas so badly since the last time they had been in Crestwood. It was a great gift he had given her, even if it wasn’t the truth she wanted.

The two looked at each other for long moments before Solas broke the silence. “You are so beautiful,” he told Fen’Falon. A hand came up to cup her chin and he pulled her towards him, meeting her lips with his in a deep kiss. Something about the kiss felt sad to Fen’Falon, and when Solas pulled away just as the kiss would have gone further, she grew concerned.

“And I am sorry,” Solas said, his face returning the the mask that he presented in front of the others. “I distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again.”

“Solas…”

“Please, _vhenan_ ,” he said, stepping away from her embrace.

Anger and betrayal wiped away any romantic feelings that may have remained in Fen’Falon.

“Tell me you don’t care,” Fen’Falon spat.

“I can’t do that,” Solas said, looking pained.

“Tell me I was some casual dalliance,” Fen’Falon was sure the anger in voice could draw a rage demon now. “Tell me, so I can call you a cold-hearted son of a bitch and move on!” Fen’Falon shoved Solas when she couldn’t bring herself to slap him. She did it twice more for good measure before stepping away from other mage. Then she turned and walked away from him, barely hearing his “I’m sorry” as she awoke in her chambers.

Solas was still there as well, and she considered taking her revenge on him right then before deciding that venting to Dorian was perhaps the better option. She fled her room, taking the stairs two or three at a time, barely noticing that her anger was leaving its own mark on the fortress walls. Tiny crystals of ice sprouted behind her, anywhere her hands touched along the railings and walls. The doors in between her and the library froze solid as she slammed them shut behind her, and would remain so at least until morning.

Fen’Falon didn’t even notice, so intent was she on finding Dorian. When she finally reached her friend, he didn’t even get a single word out before she broke down, crying into his probably-expensive Tevinter linen shirt.


	67. Icicles

Walking away from her was the hardest thing he’d done since the Betrayal. The hurt in her golden-green eyes was like a shard of ice punched through his chest. But it had to be done. With the vallaslin gone, it would only be a matter of time before she realised what had been happening. It was something over which the gods did not truly have control - a usually beneficial side-effect of their godhood: those with _vallaslin_ were more malleable, easier to control, vulnerable to even unspoken suggestions, especially if it was the god to whom they were pledged.

How long before his _vhenan_ discovered it? How long before she turned on him in horror, questioning every moment they had together? He himself had not even realised that the _vallaslin_ would still be active, not until Abelas had made his offhand remark about being bound to Mythal.

Solas did not give it past her first conversation with Morrigan in the war room. With the power of the Well, and Morrigan’s connection to Mythal, it would only be a matter of time before the whispers of the Well said too much.

He had always been a melancholy sort, but he found it ill-suited him now that he needed to take action. Retrieving his foci from Corypheus and removing the corruption was the priority - the easiest path to that was to assist the Inquisitor in that final fight for Thedas. With the foci returned to him, he could regain his full power, or at least as much as he was able to with part of it bonded to the Inquisitor.

When Solas had left the Fade after his discussion with Fen - no, with the Inquisitor - he had been concerned that she was not asleep in her chambers still. Perhaps his conversation had been harsher than he had intended, but it was for the best - she would move on, in time. The ice along the walls was more concerning, but easily mended with minor fire-based spellwork.

By the time he reached the rotunda, it was nearly dawn, and Leliana’s ravens were cawing their hunger. He spent some time marking out the lines for the next bit of the mural on the walls - something to depict their - no, the Inquisitor’s - victory over Corypheus at the Temple. The halls of the Temple took shape, soon filled with rough caricatures of Abelas, each mirroring the other on either side of a stylised drawing of the Well’s basin.

Solas had paused his sketching to contemplate colours when a shout came from the library above.

“Fire!” shouted one of the mages upstairs. This set off a mass of chatter and shouting as the ex-Circle Mages strove to put out the fire in the library.

“Who the _fuck_ decided to use fire magic in the library?!” a woman’s voice carried over the others. Solas imagined that it sounded rather like Fen’Falon - like the Inquisitor. Solas was finding it hard to remind himself that regardless of how elvhen the Inquisitor may have become, he could not allow his attachment to her to distract him any longer. Remembering to refer to her only as the Inquisitor should help him maintain the distance he was trying so desperately to keep.

Solas didn’t hear the beginning of the response to the woman, but the rest was clearly audible as the other mages quieted down.

“...frozen shut. I thought if I just used a little fire magic to reheat the door and melt the ice--”

The woman’s exasperated sigh carried through the space. “So you set the door on fire? What a genius plan, that was.”

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, really I am!” the hapless mage replied. Solas pinched the bridge of his nose - so she was up in the library.

“Sorry doesn’t un-burn the _door_ , ser mage. What if the books had caught fire? Or someone’s robes?”

The fire-happy mage muttered something that Solas couldn’t hear.

“Well if you’re so eager to set things aflame, perhaps you should go train out in the yard with Cullen.”

“But--”

“Go,” the Inquisitor said firmly. Solas heard the tromp of boots descending the stairs that led directly into the main hall, followed by the door to the hall shutting behind the mage. There was a moment of silence, then -

“Well? What are you all staring at?” said the Inquisitor, ice in her voice. A sudden increase in volume let Solas know that the other mages were returning to their work in the library.

Solas had just started to regather his thoughts when Fen’Falon’s voice echoed through the tower again.

“Dorian,” she said, “I’m going to go wail on Iron Bull. You coming?”

“That could be rather interesting to watch,” Dorian replied. “Fen - wait - no - use the stairs!”

Solas wondered what Dorian meant when a thump from in front of him announced the Inquisitor. Apparently, she had jumped from the library level to land on top of his desk. A frosty glare at him was followed by a dignified scramble off the desk, and the Inquisitor stalked from the rotunda.

Solas’s eyes followed his _vhenan_ as she left, only drawn back to his work by the extreme chill emanating from his desk. The Inquisitor had frozen it, and everything on it, into a solid mass of ice. Soals was suddenly glad that he hadn’t been touched the desk in any way when the Inquisitor had landed. Being a giant icicle was certainly not a part of his plans.

Three days later, the Inquisitor still had yet to cease freezing things whenever she saw Solas. Any surface she was touching, any liquid she may have held - all were frozen on sight if Solas were spotted.

He didn’t blame her for her anger, he was well aware that his dismissal of their relationship and continued silence on the matter could be considered cruel to some. But he should never have gotten involved with her to begin with - it had been a mistake in Haven, and it was still a mistake now.

He would never forgive himself for what he needed to do if he stayed involved with the Inquisitor. He would never forgive himself for leaving her, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, it's hard to write Solas post-breakup, ngl. It's NaNoWriMo though, so I'll at least try to get a bunch of updates in here.


	68. Smoke and Mirrors

Fen’Falon was on her way through the halls to meet Morrigan in the garden when she nearly ran into the witch herself.

“Morrigan,” Fen’Falon said as she removed herself from Morrigan’s personal space, “I was just looking for you.”

“Not now, Inquisitor. My son is missing!” Fen’Falon studied the witch and realised that Morrigan did indeed look out-of-sorts. The elven mage decided that she could get used to seeing the insufferable witch like this more often - maybe knock the woman down a rung or two.

“Missing?” Fen’Falon asked in return.

“I stepped away from the garden for but a moment, and when I returned he was not there.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t just wandered off to play with another child?”

“Kieran knows better, Inquisitor. He would never wander off.”

Fen’Falon sighed. Between the Temple of Mythal, the Well of Sorrows, and That Asshole Solas, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with something as petty as a missing child. But she did need to speak with Morrigan about their next steps for fighting Corypheus - the Well suggested Morrigan had useful information. Which of course meant that despite Fen’Falon’s general unwillingness to be helpful to Morrigan, it was the only way that the necessary conversation would happen.

“Alright,” Fen’Falon said. “I’ll get some of the soldiers to help. Let’s try asking the hangers-on in the main hall if they’ve seen a young boy.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Morrigan said. It was the most emotion Fen’Falon had heard from the witch since the woman had joined.

Three hours later they discovered that Kieran was seen going into the storage space near the garden - near Morrigan’s room. Morrigan entered first, with Fen’Falon close behind. Fen’Falon saw the eluvian at the end of the long room and quickly realised that this was where they had all returned to Skyhold only earlier that week.

The eluvian was active.

“Shit,” Fen’Falon said. Kieran was nowhere to be seen in the room - he had to have entered the eluvian. As for how he activated it, much less why, they would need to find the boy in order to get answers. Before Fen’Falon could say anything else, Morrigan ran through the eluvian.

“Double shit,” Fen’Falon said, and she followed Morrigan into the eluvian and whatever awaited the two mages on the other side.  
  


* * *

 

The green sky and jagged rock formations were all too familiar to Fen’Falon - Kieran had somehow pointed the eluvian into the Fade. Creators be praised, there was only one path available, and Fen’Falon ran along it behind Morrigan as quickly as she dared.

“Inquisitor!” Morrigan shouted behind her. “Go back! I must find Kieran before it’s too late!”

Fen’Falon caught up with the witch. “We’ll find him, Morrigan.”

“The Fade is infinite. He could literally be anywhere. Whatever happens to him now, tis my doing. I set him on this path.”

“Morrigan, I don’t understand you.”

“Please, help me look Inquisitor. Just a little longer.”

Fen’Falon sighed. “Fine.”

The two mages ran side-by-side through the Fade, splitting with the path to better search it as they went. Time passed oddly in this area of the Fade, and Fen’Falon couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours as they ran amongst the rocks.

Finally they reached a dead end. They were greeted with the sight of an armoured woman with pure white hair kneeling before Kieran. Between the two was a glowing ball of blue energy, held on Kieran’s outstretched hand. Blue light flowed between Keiran and the woman, and Fen’Falon felt the whispers of the Well grow louder as the two mages drew near.

Kieran’s hand snapped shut and the light vanished. “Mother!” the boy cried out.

Fen’Falon was just a step behind Morrigan, and so couldn’t see her face, but the venom in the witch’s voice was new. “Mother,” the witch spat.

The white haired woman rose to her feet and turned to face Morrigan and Fen’Falon.

“Now isn’t this a surprise,” the woman said. Her voice rasped with age, giving the woman an air of menace that left Fen’Falon edgy.

Fen’Falon looked between the others and felt a sneer curl up her lips. “So this is all just some fucked up family reunion?”

The mystery woman - Morrigan’s mother, apparently - laughed. “Mother, daughter, grandson. It rather warms the heart, does it not?”

“Kieran is _not_ your grandson,” Morrigan bit out. “Let him go!”

“As if I were holding the boy hostage,” the woman replied. The woman looked at Fen’Falon. “She’s always been ungrateful, you see.”

“Ungrateful?! I know how you plan to extend your life, wicked crone,” Morrigan shouted. Fen’Falon was starting to feel awkward, as it looked like she had managed to tag along into a family argument. The elven mage began to edge away from the other three in tiny steps, hoping to get out of range unnoticed.

“You will not have me,” Morrigan continued, “and you will not have my son.” The witch began gathering power, the tendrils of magic visibly green here in the Fade.

Morrigan’s mother sighed. “Be a good lass and restrain her, would you?” The woman’s eyes flashed blue, and a raised arm in Fen’Falon’s direction sent blue tendrils of power wisping towards the Inquisitor.

Fen’Falon found herself moving against her will to pull Morrigan off balance, disrupting the witch’s concentration.

“What are you doing?” Morrigan cried out. “ _What_ are you doing?!”

The blue power faded from Fen’Falon and she was suddenly confused. “I don’t...I don’t know,” Fen’Falon said.

“Of course you know,” Morrigan’s mother said. “You drank from the Well, did you not?”

Morrigan’s gasp of recognition came just as Fen’Falon put the pieces together.

“Well shit,” Fen’Falon muttered under her breath. So this is what Solas had gotten worked up about, what Abelas had meant by ‘bound to Mythal’.

“You...are Mythal,” said Morrigan.

The Well of Sorrows confirmed it for Fen’Falon in a susurration of voices. Wonder filled Fen’Falon, and awe at being in the presence of one of her gods.

“You are,” Fen’Falon said. “It’s...very nice to finally meet you.” These were not the words Fen’Falon truly wished to say, but one does not insult an ancient elven god to their face, especially when that god can apparently command other people’s bodies.

“You see girl,” Mythal said to Morrigan, “ _those_ are manners, as you seem to require a demonstration.”

“I require nothing from you but your death,” Morrigan spat.

“You tried that once already, and see how far it got you,” Mythal said. Fen’Falon thought the goddess almost looked saddened by Morrigan’s words. Mythal gave Kieran a push, and the boy ran to his mother and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, mother,” Kieran said. “I heard her calling to me. She said now was the time.”

“I do not understand,” Morrigan said as Kieran moved back towards Mythal.

“Once I was but a woman,” Mythal said. “Crying out to the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.”

“So...you carry Mythal inside you?” Fen’Falon asked.

“She is a part of me,” Mythal’s vessel answered. “No more separate than your heart from your chest. What do the voices tell you?”

The Well’s whispers threatened to overwhelm Fen’Falon, and she shut her eyes to better focus on them.

“They say you speak the truth,” Fen’Falon said.

“But what was Mythal? A legend given name and called a god? Or something more?” Mythal said cryptically. “Truth is not the end, but a beginning.”

Fen’Falon opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by Mythal again.

“So young and vibrant,” the goddess said. “You do the People proud, and have come far. As for me, I have had many names, but you may call me Flemeth.”

Fen’Falon narrowed her eyes at Flemeth. “If Mythal is a part of you,” she asked, “why haven’t you helped us? We’ve called to you, _prayed_ to you.”

Flemeth looked away from Fen’Falon. “What was, could not be changed.”

“What about _now_? You know so much--”

“You know not what you ask, child.”

Fen’Falon stood silent for a moment, then, “Why did Mythal come to you?”

“For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens,” Flemeth said.

“And you follow her whims,” Morrigan finally spoke. “Do you even know what she truly is?”

“You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end?” Flemeth asked. “It is because I taught you girl. Because things happened that were never meant to happen.”

Morrigan seemed to shift uncomfortably.

“She was betrayed,” Flemeth said. “As I was betrayed. As the _world_ was betrayed. Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me! And I will see her avenged!”

A pause, then, “Alas. So long as the music plays, we dance,” Mythal’s vessel said.

The three women stood in silence for a moment, Fen’Falon thinking rapidly. All this information about Mythal, about Flemeth, was very enlightening and cryptic, and yet…

“So you drew us all out here. Why?” Fen’Falon asked Flemeth.

“One thing, and one thing only,” Flemeth said, looking at Kieran. The boy looked up at Flemeth, then at Morrigan.

“I have to go now, mother,” said Kieran.

“No,” Morrigan said flatly. “I will not allow it.”

“He carries a piece of what once was,” Flemeth said. “Snatched from the jaws of darkness. You know this.”

“He is not your pawn, mother. I will not let you use him!”

“Have you not used him? Was that not your purpose, the reason you agreed to his creation?”

“That was then.” Fen’Falon thought Morrigan sounded near tears. “Now, he is my son.”

“Morrigan, wait. I don’t think this is what you’re thinking it is. The way she talked about Kieran…” Fen’Falon put a hand on Morrigan’s shoulder. Something was weird here.

“I am not the only one carrying the soul of a being long thought lost,” Flemeth said.

“He is more than that, mother,” Morrigan said.

“As am I,” Flemeth replied. “Yet do you hear me complain? Our destinies are not so easily avoided, dear girl.”

“Mother, I have to,” Kieran interjected.

“You do not belong to her, Kieran,” cried Morrigan. “Neither of us do.”

“So why wait until now to do something about Kieran?” Fen’Falon asked.

“I did not know where he was. Morrigan cleverly hid him from me,” Flemeth said. “Until now.”

Morrigan gasped. “Twas the Well…”

“Be thankful you did not drink,” Flemeth pointed out to Morrigan. “Imagine, bound to your dear mother, for eternity.” Flemeth laughed, a rasping whine escaping her throat.

“Kieran, I--” Morrigan’s words failed her as Kieran nodded at Flemeth. The older woman nodded back, and the two stepped further away from Fen’Falon and Morrigan. Flemeth took the boy’s hands in her own, holding tight as the blue glow from earlier manifested once more.

The glow grew until it formed a ball of light, which floated into Flemeth, entering just below her collarbone. She smiled at Kieran as the ball vanished inside her.

“No more dreams?” Kieran asked Mythal’s vessel.

“No more dreams,” Flemeth confirmed. “A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me. As for you, Inquisitor, there is an ancient altar deep within a shaded wood. Go to it. Summon the dragon that is its guardian. Master it in combat and it is yours to command against Corypheus. Fail, and die.”

With that last parting crypticism, Flemeth turned from the Inquisitor and Morrigan and walked deeper into the Fade.

“Wait!” Morrigan cried out. Flemeth ignored her daughter and walked until Fen’Falon lost sight of Mythal’s vessel.

When the three returned to Skyhold, Fen’Falon watched as Morrigan hugged Kieran tightly. Suddenly bitter, the Inquisitor left the two alone and went to the library to talk to Dorian.


	69. I Still Remember

The Iron Bull hadn’t understood why Fen’Falon refused to bring him to fight Mythal’s dragon - even when she explained that the goal wasn’t to kill the dragon, only subdue it. Fen’Falon used the memory of his indignance to fuel her fight, and regaled him with the full details of the tale when she, Dorian, Morrigan, and Cole returned to Skyhold.

Fen’Falon had thrown herself into the fight, she welcomed the distraction from That Asshole Solas. Relying on her fadeblade more than her magic, Fen’Falon had dove into the fray with reckless abandon and served as the warrior for the group while Dorian backed them up from the magical end of things. It worked out well, in the end, but the result was that Fen’Falon was exhausted when she told the dragon to await her call. She tried to sleep most of the hard ride back - the group had made it to and from the Arbor Wilds in record time, slightly less than a full week had passed when they finally rode into Skyhold.

Talking to the Iron Bull had taken up most of the remaining daylight, and Fen’Falon was so exhausted when she returned to her chambers that she didn’t even change clothes. Passed out on the bed, Fen’Falon barely noticed when the Well of Sorrows shifted her from dreams into memories.

* * *

 

Golden limestone walls rose up around her as she stepped through the eluvian. Mythal had sent her here to observe only, but would not say why. She followed the guardian down the hallway and out into a hidden valley. Mythal must know of the location, but she wondered at how hidden the vale was.

Tall mountains surrounded them on all sides, with no visible paths or roads leading from the lake in the center. Crystal waters sparkled in the sunlight and lent dancing reflections to the special golden stone that all important elvhen buildings were made from. Bare-faced elvhen scurried across a bridge on the lake, moving swiftly from the eluvians to the bridge, or even from eluvian to eluvian. Three towers - four if she counted the one she had just exited - ringed the valley, providing excellent vantage points. With no visible means of reaching the other three, she could only assume that eluvians networked them together.

She followed the path around the tower until she reached an eluvian that overlooked the lake, and followed her guide through. They continued through it and across the bridge, into the large temple structure that dominated the small island. Now at the center of the vale, she could see that other elvhen were streaming in through the same tower she had just left. They followed varying paths, but in the end it seemed like all ended up at the temple.

That was when she realised that her guide did not have _vallaslin_ , nor did any of the elvhen standing guard.

“Please keep up, we would hate for you to get lost in the crowd,” her guide said sharply. she hadn’t even realised that she had stopped walking.

Suddenly she stood on an upper balcony amongst more bare-faced elvhen, watching the events unfolding on the raised dais.

An elvhen with Andruil’s _vallaslin_ approached the elvhen man standing on the dais. The man’s hair was braided into a multitude of small, tight braids, gathered at the back to fall down his neck. A small animal’s skull rested at the apex of his forehead, secured to his hair with cord. A dark gray wolf’s pelt was settled over one shoulder, and mirror-bright armour guarded the other shoulder. His clothing was of a quality usually only seen amongst the nobles of Arlathan, or even that of the gods, but his face seemed very familiar to her - almost indecently so.

She shook her head to clear it of the strange thoughts and continued watching. Andruil’s elvhen knelt before the nobleman, and the nobleman gathered power into his own hands. He placed his hands over the _vallaslin_ , then slowly moved his hands up the elvhen’s face. Everywhere his hands had been, the _vallaslin_ had vanished. When the nobleman pulled his hands away, the kneeling elvhen had no _vallaslin_.

“I give you your freedom,” the nobleman said.

The now-bare-faced elvhen bowed low before the nobleman. “Thank you, Fen’Harel,” he said. The freed elvhen left the dais and made room for the next one in line.

Fen’Harel made his way quickly through the lines of elvhen waiting as she watched, until finally the sun grew heavy in the sky and her guide returned. Following her guide, they made their way back across the bridge and through to the final eluvian. She activated it with Mythal’s command word, and once the eluvian was fully awakened, walked through to report to her goddess.

* * *

 

Fen’Falon woke up disquieted, and unsure of the reason. Pieces of a dream came back to her, eerily familiar - an elvhen nobleman removing _vallaslin_ from slaves, bare-faced elvhen watching on. A man with braided hair who wore a wolf pelt, looking extremely familiar as he removed the _vallaslin_ from kneeling slaves. His face reminded her of Solas, but surely that was just her mind filling in the dream with faces she knew well. Her Keeper had spoken to her once of such things - that true dreams, the ones outside the Fade, pulled from memories to fill in the details.

Still, the dream left her feeling odd, like she was forgetting something important. It almost felt more like a memory, but Fen’Falon knew she had never been such a place before. Perhaps the Well of Sorrows had leaked into her dreaming mind as well.

Fen’Falon brushed the dream from her mind - it was just a dream, after all, and there was much to do today. She dressed quickly, opting to wear the chainmail that went under her usual armor. If she was lucky, Fen’Falon thought she might be able to get in some practice time in the training yards with her fadeblade before the advisors called a war meeting again.

As Fen’Falon exited her chambers though, she had a sinking feeling when she saw Leliana come through the door to the tower. The spymaster briefly nodded her head as she made eye contact with Fen’Falon, indicating that the Inquisitor was needed in the War Room again. Fen’Falon sighed - there went her practice time.

Fen’Falon made her way through the nobles that cluttered the main hall of Skyhold, thankfully no longer leaving ice flowers in her wake. She’d worked out most of the emotion battling the dragon, and had a feeling that only Dorian was still treating her as if nothing had happened.

She was last into the War Room, as usual.

“Thank you for joining us, Inquisitor,” Josephine started the meeting.

“We received word from my contacts today,” said Leliana. The spymaster looked hesitant to continue and glanced at both Cullen and Josephine before continuing. “Most of the news is good, however, word from the Free Marches returned and…”

Fen’Falon grew agitated at Leliana’s obvious reluctance - the Lavellan clan was still in the Free Marches! “Just spit it out Leliana, for godssakes!”

“Inquisitor, the Lavellan clan has been wiped out, to a man, woman, and child.”

Fen’Falon felt herself crack into pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, evil!me won out on the Lavellan clan's fate! sorrynotsorry, been planning this from the beginning.


	70. Slipping Through the Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Star Wars kinda overtook my brain and made me write shipper fic. It's getting close to being finished though, so hopefully my DAI muse will come back to me. 
> 
> In other news, I've now been writing this story for more than a year. Holy crap. Thanks to everyone who's been reading since then~!

“Inquisitor, the Lavellan clan has been wiped out, to a man, woman, and child.” Leliana’s words became the only thing Fen’Falon could hear.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen asked. “Are you alright, Inquisitor?”

Cullen’s words brought Fen’Falon out of her fugue state and set loose the storm of emotions brought on by Leliana’s words. Rage, sorrow, frustration, an indescribable sense of unfairness - Fen’Falon let it all loose in a burst of magical power that knocked the movement pieces from the map table and pushed the advisors back a step. Pulsing green light twisted and warped in the area above the table, turning back on itself into a rope-like shape until it began to widen.

The air in the room grew thin, and a green tinge slowly overtook everything in sight as the rope structure began to glow with its own light. A keening sound filled the room, but later, no one present could say for sure if it was the magical construct or Fen’Falon herself that made the noise.

Suddenly it felt like the air had been knocked from Fen’Falon’s lungs, and she had trouble drawing breath. She felt heavy and slower than a druffalo, as if just staying alive was suddenly a taxing chore. The twisting green light twisted itself thinner and thinner until it eventually vanished. A strange, sharp scent filled the air, although it would be better to describe it as an absence of scent.

“What...happened?” Fen’Falon had to take deep, pained breaths between words, barely managing to get them out. She’d ended up plastered to the floor, and was slowly regaining control of her body.

“You were losing control, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. 

“So you fucking smote me?!” Fen’Falon snarled.

“It was either that or allow a rift to open inside Skyhold, Inquisitor,” Leliana replied.

Fen’Falon pulled herself to her feet, wincing in pain. She made a noise halfway between a growl and a grunt, and carefully made her way out of the War Room without responding to the advisors.

No ice followed her this time - Fen’Falon’s emotions were tightly bottled until she could reach somewhere they could be unleashed. Her legs nearly gave out on her as she passed through Josephine’s office, and Fen’Falon paused in the doorway to shore herself up before continuing into the main hall. The nobles in the main hall seemed unsettled and spoke in hushed tones while casting sidelong glances at Fen’Falon. She ignored them.

What she couldn’t ignore, however, was Solas, standing near Varric’s table at the door to the library tower. The fleeting look of concern on Solas’s face that was quickly smothered and hidden behind his polite and disinterested mask. A matching look of irritation crossed Fen’Falon’s face, and was just as quickly buried, hopefully before Solas could make note of it.

Fen’Falon got halfway down the stairs that led from the courtyard into the hold proper before her impatience to be away got the better of her and she leapt from the landing into the courtyard. Her landing startled a courier, who barely had time to register that the blur was the Inquisitor before she took off for the main gate of the keep, not even stopping to grab a mount.

She forced herself to walk calmly through the camped refugees and soldiers in the valley below the keep, but broke back into a run as soon as she was far enough up the mountain trail. Fen’Falon crested the pass and continued a ways down the far side before spying a copse of trees - they would serve to vent the anger and frustration that had been threatening to burst since Cullen smote her.

Fen’Falon went to summon her power into the shape of her fadeblade and nearly gasped in dismay at the pathetic amount of mana that dribbled from her hands. The blade refused to form - she was still severely depleted.

“Damn that templar,” Fen’Falon muttered rebelliously. She sank into the dewy grass and rested her back against a tree - the snow even this far up was melting in sunlit places as summer finally reached the mountains. Of course, resting against a tree turned out to be a mistake, as she was suddenly reminded of the time she and Solas stood watch together in the forest of Crestwood. That in turn reminded her of the cave, and of the way Solas just  _ decided _ that he couldn’t be with her anymore.

“Asshole,” said Fen’Falon to the trees. It took almost an hour for the mage to feel like she was back up to full strength, but by that time her emotions had gone from raging forest fire into a simmering hearth fire, and there was no satisfaction to be had by using her fadeblade to down the tree she’d leaned against.

Fen’Falon found another tree and curled into a protruding root, folding in on herself so that her head rested on her knees. 

“You trying to become the tree, Icy?” Varric asked. Fen’Falon hadn’t even noticed his approach.

“Go ‘way, Varric,” Fen’Falon grumbled. Varric sat down next to her.

“This isn’t a bad spot, Icy. Almost peaceful, all things considered.” The dwarf stubbornly refused to leave her alone, instead talking about the latest fortress gossip and the inane Orlesian intricacies that fascinated Leliana and Vivianne. Slowly the storyteller drew Fen’Falon into conversation and she found herself telling him about life as a Lavellan mage.

As the sun set, Varric finally managed to convince Fen’Falon to come back to the keep for a late evening meal. The visiting nobles and courtiers began whispering the minute Fen’Falon set foot in the main hall and Fen’Falon desperately wished she could just drive them all out.

“Inquisitor,” Leliana started. The spymaster had approached the table from behind Fen’Falon, likely hoping to keep the elven mage from fleeing again.

“You,” Fen’Falon nearly growled. “You are the last  _ shemlen _ that I want to see today. Get out of my sight.”

“Inquisitor, please, we still need to discuss--”

“Nothing. There is nothing more to discuss. And if you don’t leave me alone for the next few days, then maybe I’ll just leave.” Fen’Falon stood up from the table and took a fast pace for the stairs to her private quarters.

“Inquisitor, you cannot abandon your duties,” Leliana whispered as she tried to keep up with the Inquisitor.

“I can’t?” Fen’Falon stopped just in front of a door and spun to face Leliana. “Last I checked, I wasn’t the one who made a decision that got an entire elven clan murdered. I wasn’t the one making the major decision for this insane organisation. So you can shove it, Leliana. Piss me off any more and there won’t be an Inquisitor here to be your damned figurehead.”

Leliana opened her mouth to speak and Fen’Falon took the opportunity to slip through the door. Fen’Falon shut it behind her, locked the door, then used a small amount of mana to freeze the lock solid. Satisfied that the door would hold for a few hours, the mage took the stairs two at a time to reach her chambers.

Once inside, Fen’Falon allowed herself to fall onto the bed, arms and legs splayed out. The sky was fully dark by this point, and Fen’Falon’s thoughts weren’t far behind. She hadn’t been that attached to her clan, but it still hurt to think of them gone, especially the Keeper. Fen’Falon’s original mission - to spy on the Conclave and report back - had long since been thrown out. Accidentally picking up that orb now seemed to have been the worst possible decision the young mage had made since her adolescence. 

If she hadn’t picked up the orb, she wouldn’t have the Anchor. Without the Anchor, Corypheus wouldn’t be coming after her, and she wouldn’t have met Solas. She wouldn’t have been forced into becoming the Inquisitor, into working with all these  _ shemlen _ , into fighting for her life against horrors from beyond the Veil. And maybe, just maybe, her clan wouldn’t have been slaughtered while she was stuck in southron lands.

Fen’Falon was crying again, from loss of both Solas and her clan. It would have been fascinating to see Solas try to have a discussion with Keeper Deshanna - Fen’Falon had a feeling the argument could have lasted days. Assuming, of course, that everyone survived and Corypheus was defeated. Would she die without ever knowing the real reason Solas had broken off their relationship?

Fen’Falon resolved to ask him when she woke in the morning - not knowing was going to drive her into insanity.


	71. I Will Not Speak of Your Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally reaching Doom Upon All the World. ^_^

Fen’Falon woke just after dawn, the dewy damp still heavy in the air, and rolled over on the still-uncomfortable bed. Getting up would mean having to face the day, face Solas, and eventually face the advisors, none of which she wanted. Truth be told, Fen’Falon did not want to do anything more. The Inquisition felt more like a prison than it had when everyone thought she’d caused the tears in the Fade and the death of the Divine. 

The young mage made a noise of discontent as sunlight brightened - curse whoever gave her the rooms with three walls of windows - and eventually flopped out of the bed and onto the floor to pull herself into a sitting position. She sat like that for a few moments before she gathered her strength and stood, leaning on the bed for extra support. Things needed doing, and the world would not wait while she moped around - if anything, Leliana was liable to pick the locks and quite literally drag Fen’Falon into the War Room.

Fen’Falon spared herself that indignity with a brief cold water wash of her face to finish waking up, and then geared up in the brassy-gold scalemail armour that a noble had gifted her for wearing around Skyhold. A sleeveless dull brown enchanter’s coat went over that and her breeches; Fen’Falon had taken to pointedly not wearing  _ shemlen _ boots in the castle when possible.

Thus geared up for the day, her tined and bladed staff slung across her back, Fen’Falon made her way down into the main hall. She steadfastly ignored the nobles gathered this early in the morning and made straight for the tower room that Solas had made his sanctum from.

The blasted asshole elvhen was already in the room, and seemed to be working on a piece of the mural that would represent the Temple of Mythal and the events surrounding it. Astute as ever, Solas noticed Fen’Falon’s presence almost immediately and turned to greet her.

“Inquisitor,” he said, his voice flat. “How may I be of assistance to you?”

Fen’Falon took a deep breath and calmed the anger his words brought out. Calm and collected was the key here, Fen’Falon told herself. A second breath helped gather her thoughts before she replied.

“I’d like to talk about what happened before, Solas.”

“Before?”

“In the Fade. In the cavern in Crestwood.”

“Ah. I’m afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate at this time. We must focus on what truly matters.” 

Fen’Falon knew him well enough by now to see the evasion for what it was. Why wouldn’t he talk to her about whatever his problem was? Was she not his  _ vhenan _ ?

“Harden your heart to a cutting edge,” Solas continued, “and put that pain to use against Corypheus.”

Fen’Falon’s eyes narrowed in anger. She’d cut  _ him _ with that edge if this kept up. “I don’t know why I even bothered trying to talk with you,” she said bitterly.

“Because you are hurt,” Solas said. “Because I made a selfish mistake.”

Fen’Falon started walking back to the main hall, but Solas wasn’t done.

“Because you deserve better. Pick any reason.”

The last caused Fen’Falon to stop her march out and she pivoted on one foot to face the elvhen mage again.

“I’m asking you to  _ give _ me the reason, Solas!” Fen’Falon cried out.

Solas shook his head, sadness writ on his features. “I cannot. Not now. Perhaps once this threat is dealt with once and for all.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you bastard,” spat Fen’Falon. She left the tower feeling no less in pain than she had when she woke. Courtiers and visiting nobles whispered as she passed them on the way back up to her rooms at the top of the keep. The day had barely started and Fen’Falon was already unwilling to continue to deal with it. 

Fen’Falon reached the top of the stairs, entered her room, and flopped down onto the bed without even bothering to remove the light armour she wore. The elf dozed on the bed for hours in a fugue state, unable to interact with the world around her as her thoughts ran in circles.

A tremor shook the keep, followed by an ominous rumble and accompanying eerie green glow to the sky. The mark in Fen’Falon’s hand pulsed in response and twinged painfully, bringing Fen’Falon back into full awareness. Thunder crashed moments later and a secondary shockwave hit Skyhold.

She ran out onto one of the balconies to see the Breach reopened. Dark clouds swirled around it, moving faster than they ever had, even when the Breach was fresh. Even as Fen’Falon watched, a bright green beam reformed between the Breach and the ground underneath it, though much of it was hidden by the mountains.

Moments later Cullen burst through Fen’Falon door.

“Inquisitor! You’re needed in the War Room!”  Cullen wasn’t even out of breath, Fen’Falon noted, but he’d clearly run up the many stairs to the rooms. Fen’Falon still hadn’t forgiven him for smiting her only yesterday.

“On my way,” Fen’Falon replied, her voice curt. A quick re-tie of her hair and Fen’Falon was down the stairs on Cullen’s heels. As much as she might not like the templar or other advisors, Corypheus pissed her off more for the moment. She’d deal with the Inquisition and its leaders once the darkspawn magister had been brought down.

Leliana, Josephine, and Morrigan were already in the War Room when Fen’Falon arrived behind Cullen.

“You found her, good,” Josephine said.

“Inquisitor, we must--” Leliana began. Another rumbling shook the keep, interrupting the spymaster.

“It seems Corypheus is not content to wait,” Morrigan said.

“He’s in the Valley of Sacred Ashes?” Fen’Falon asked. Morrigan inclined her head, but no one confirmed.

“You either close the Breach once more, or it will swallow the world,” said Morrigan.

“But that’s madness,” said Josephine. “Wouldn’t it kill him as well?”

The advisors all looked at each other, and Fen’Falon got the feeling that being in the Fade was Corypheus’s plan to begin with.

“Regardless, Inquisitor, we have no forces to send with you,” said Cullen. “Most of them are still returning from the Arbor Wilds.”

“Corypheus knows that we’re vulnerable. He’s calling me out,” Fen’Falon said. “We must go now, before the Breach opens any wider.”

The advisors looked at each other again, conveying volumes with their facial expressions. They might not be any happier about the current state of affairs between themselves and their Inquisitor at the time, but as the only one with power over the Breach and Fade rifts, Fen’Falon ultimately had final say on the matter.

“We’ll send whomever we can, Inquisitor,” Josephine said finally.

“Have everyone geared up and ready to go before the noon bell,” said Fen’Falon. “If we don’t move quickly, this will only get worse.”

“As you say,” Leliana replied. 

Taking the spymaster’s words as a dismissal, Fen’Falon bolted from the War Room and took the stairs to her rooms two at a time. The elven mage geared up faster than she ever had, the dawnstone plates and dragon hide armour sliding on with ease. Her staff had been left next to her bed, and a quick pull of her magic recalled it to her hands.

Fen’Falon was ready to go and waiting in the courtyard before the hour was up. It was finally time to end this.


	72. A Way Out For Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mirror Shows Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double post today! (2/24). Go back and read chapter 71 if you haven't yet!

Haven was a wreck. Half-buried in snow with jagged edges of building sticking up above, Fen’Falon was glad that navigating the town wasn’t necessary this time around. As Fen’Falon led her gathered Inquisition members towards the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the wind picked up.

As they drew closer to the Temple, spikes of red lyrium began to dot the path, and the wind had increased until trees swayed under the pressure. The bridge where Fen’Falon had first experienced the power of the Breach was still in pieces, but enough of the rubble remained that she could lead a small group up the very same path she’d taken to seal the Breach so many months ago.

“We’ll need to split up,” she told the group as they stopped. “I’ll take the Iron Bull, Cole, and….Solas. We’ll use the straight path. The other should take the back route through the mountain. Inquisition scouts in front of both groups - no point in running into things without warning.”

A chorus of assent as the group split into the designated subgroups, and soon resources had been redistributed across them. Morrigan seemed to have decided that the fight wasn’t worth it, and Fen’Falon watched with some satisfaction as the witch turned around and left.

The trek up was eerily quiet - no horrors, terrors, nightmares, nothing. Fen’Falon was growing more uneasy by the second, especially after they entered the copse of trees closest to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

A scream from one of her scouts had Fen’Falon running towards the Temple. Rocks the size of humans were floating up into the air, and the red lyrium spikes around the Temple had grown to improbable heights. The wind was intense, nearly blowing Fen’Falon into a nearby wall, and all but Iron Bull struggled to stay close enough to her.

The four companions reached the Temple doorstep just as an unholy red glow brightened.

“Tell me,” a baritone voice rumbled. “Where is your Maker now?”

Fen’Falon took cover behind a wall that had partially collapsed. Corypheus had found her scouts and had called the orb to his hands, red seeping from cracks in the sphere and leeching into small sparks of lightning that came off the orb. He stood in what was once the doorway to the Temple, a ruined balcony above and behind his head. Through the gap in the wall, Fen’Falon could see crumbling remnants of the Temple.

“Call Him. Call down His wrath upon me. You cannot,” Corypheus intoned with a sweeping gesture, “for He does not exist. I am Corypheus.  _ I _ shall deliver you from this lie in which you linger. Bow before your new God and be spared.”

Corypheus raised his hands to the sky and the orb floated between them. The horribly red orb rose in sync, ascending until it was higher than even the original height of the Temple roof.

“Never!” one of the scouts cried out.

Corypheus’s head turned to glare at the scout. “As you wish,” the crazed magister said. Gathered power lashed out from the magister in a bubble of red. The scouts were flung into walls and debris, dead on impact. Fen’Falon felt the shockwave wash over her and was glad she’d decided to shelter behind part of a wall. 

Skeletal horrors with tormented faces materalised in its wake, the long and spindly limbs putting Fen’Falon in mind of spiders. If any scouts had survived the impact, the horrors made quick work of them. A motion of Fen’Falon’s marked hand had her companions engaging the Fade beasts.

Iron Bull gutted one all by himself and rushed for a second. Fen’Falon and Solas moved as one, as if they had never broken up, to destroy a third and fourth with overwhelming magical might. The way through to the Temple was clear in short order and everyone paused to catch their breath.

“Well shit,” Fen’Falon muttered. Corpyheus stood in the doorway still.

“I knew you would come,” said Corypheus with a sardonic bow.

“It ends here, Corypheus,” Fen’Falon replied. A minor thought brought her Fadeblade into existence and she advanced on him.

“And so it shall.” A red glow marked gathering power in Corypheus’s hands. Fen’Falon nodded to Solas, and both elves quickly raised the strongest barriers they could. 

A useless gesture, as it turned out. The ground shook underneath them and rose into the sky. Corypheus was raising an entire section of the mountain along with the Temple and Fen’Falon felt a glimmer of despair. 

“Double shit.”

This was not a level of power that was remotely manageable, regardless of their gathered might. Fen’Falon prayed that the Well of Sorrows and Mythal’s dragon would come through for her.

As the landscape around them fell away, Fen’Falon could see that other sections had also been lifted up. Soon they were above the mountaintops and the air was growing thin - fighting was going to be much more difficult. 

A large, warm hand came to rest on Fen’Falon’s left shoulder. “We can do this, boss,” Iron Bull told her. Fen’Falon straightened under his encouragement. If she wanted any hope of fixing things with Solas, of salvaging  _ something _ of her life after the death of her clan, there would need to be world to live in first.

“You’ve been most successful in foiling my plans,” said Corypheus. Fen’Falon had nearly forgotten about the maniac. “But let us not forget what you are.”

“Can’t be worse than  _ you _ ,” Fen’Falon muttered.

“A thief,” Corypheus hissed. “In the wrong place at the wrong time. An interloper. A gnat. We shall prove here, once and for all, which of us is worthy of godhood.”

“So that’s what you’re after,” said Fen’Falon. She raised her voice so Corypheus could hear her too. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” she called mockingly.

Corypheus stayed quiet, instead levelling a glare at the thin elven mage. On the level of the Temple above them, Corypheus’s strange dragon-creature slowly came into focus.

“ _ Fenedhis _ ,” Fen’Falon cursed as the dragon leapt towards her and her companions. She called with her mind for Mythal’s dragon and the Well jumped at her call. Voices raised with hers in a multitude of shouts to bring the dragon forth, and Fen’Falon was rewarded when Mythal’s dragon slammed into Corypheus’s freak of nature.

The dragons went tumbling over the edge of the piece of mountain and into the sky below. Bellows of rage and pain rang in the air as the two beasts fought; Fen’Falon was just glad that this left Corypheus without backup against herself and three very pissed off friends.

“You dare,” Corypheus spat.

“What, you’re the only one allowed to have a dragon, you megalomaniac?” Fen’Falon said. The magister took a step back before vanishing deeper into the Temple ruins. With a yell of triumph-excitement-confidence, Fen’Falon led the others in chase after Corypheus.

He hadn’t made it far - only to what Fen’Falon remembered being the prayer hall for visiting pilgrims. Fen’Falon called lightning down on Corypheus, which forced him to pause momentarily.

The dragons roared again.

“A dragon. How clever,” Corypheus said. “It will avail you nothing.”

Iron Bull ran to engage and Cole blinked into existence next to the magister. The two melee fighters proceeded to rain blows down on the magister while Fen’Falon and Solas threw fire and ice at him. When Corypheus retaliated with a beam of red energy at Cole, Fen’Falon ran in with her Fadeblade to attack the darkspawn directly.

The four companions continued to harry Corypheus until he fled the field, though now that everyone was on a floating hunk of rock, Fen’Falon wondered if the magister realised there wasn’t really anywhere to go. They finally cornered him in what had been the Divine’s chambers in the Temple during the Conclave and the race was on to destroy the magister before he noticed that his dragon-creature had been killed.


	73. Your Values Are All Shot

Beams of red lyrium-tainted energy swathed across the room and forced Fen’Falon and her group to take shelter down the stairs or behind the few remaining bits of walls. She could tell that Corypheus was tiring, and for the first time since the Breach had been torn open again, Fen’Falon had hope that they could kill the darkspawn magister.

As Corypheus tired, he resorted to swiping at the combatants with tainted claws. In a last, desperate bid to eliminate the Inquisitor and her friends, Corypheus gestured towards the orb. Fen’Falon felt the magic reach from the magister to the orb just before Corypheus redirected its tainted power directly into her. Fen’Falon went backwards heels over head before Solas managed to halt her tumble.

“Not like this,” Corypheus hissed in pain. “I have walked the halls of the Golden City, crossed the ages…” 

Fen’Falon watched in silence as Corypheus seemed to struggle to control the orb. The energies around it had long since begun to spiral out of control, and it seemed as though Corypheus’s pull on it had destabilised it further.

Fen’Falon flexed her left hand and fed mana into the Anchor. It flared up in answer, the green light welcoming for the first time since she’d accidentally acquired it. 

“Dumat! Ancient ones! I beseech you!” Corypheus must be truly desperate, Fen’Falon thought, if he was praying to the gods that he had only minutes earlier been claiming to be. Fen’Falon circled around behind the magister as he continued to try to control the orb.

The power in Fen’Falon’s palm called out to the orb, causing Fade-green flickers across the surface. The flickering increased until it seemed as though there was only one colour of light - a strangely bright red-and-green that was both difficult to look at and to look away from.

“If you exist - if you ever truly existed - aid me now!” Corypheus yelled, and lost control of the orb. It sang into Fen’Falon’s left hand and she felt more complete in that moment than she had sleeping with Solas. The Fade-green glow overpowered the tainted red; Fen’Falon held it lightly without trying.

As the power of the orb abandoned Corypheus, the magister sank to the ground. His eyes were lyrium-red, marking him as one so far gone into the taint that nothing could be salvaged. Fen’Falon approached cautiously - it was too soon for triumph, so she stifled that feeling.

With the orb in hand, Fen’Falon stopped mere feet from Corypheus and raised her palm to the sky. Using the combined power of the mark and the orb, Fen’Falon became the source of a blindingly green beam that shot into the sky. When it made contact with the Breach, a double pulse emanated from it and banished the gathered storm clouds. The whole sky flashed green for a moment, and then the breach was gone, only a Fade-green aurora in its wake.

Its power spent, the orb crashed into the stone at her feet. Boulders and debris began to fall around the tower and Fen’Falon began to feel as though she were falling. There wasn’t much time left before everything dropped back out of the sky.

Fen’Falon approached Corypheus with a truly evil grin on her face. Without the power of the orb and his dragon-creature to hold him together, Corypheus was having a hard time doing so himself - he looked like a shell.

“You wanted into the Fade?” Fen’Falon asked the magister. The magister twitched, and Fen’Falon took that as assent. She raised her marked hand towards Corypheus’s face and thrust all her remaining mana into the Anchor. 

Green light flashed from Corypheus’s eyes and erased the lyrium-red from them. The rest of the magister glowed with the energy as it consumed him. In answer to Fen’Falon’s unspoken thoughts, the mark called on the Fade to tear Corypheus inside-out. A flash as the thin skin of the magister was removed, then another for the underneath until only a skeleton was left. Everything flashed back into existence for a brief moment before the shimmering and twisting ball of energy collapsed into itself, taking the darkspawn magister with it. 

Corypheus was finally gone. Just in time for the remaining debris and the companions’ little island to plummet towards the ground. Fen’Falon and Solas cast barrier after barrier around the gathered companions for long minutes. The section of temple hit the ground with a lurch that was entirely unexpected in its softness - Fen’Falon thought it felt closer to falling from a tree than a mountaintop. Quick checks around that everyone was okay allowed Fen’Falon to breathe easier.

Any walls that hadn’t yet collapsed had been reduced to rubble by the fall and the debris, thought a path was still clear to the room where Corypheus had died. As Fen’Falon dragged herself to her feet, she watched Solas approach the orb laying in the center of the room. Once her feet were under her, Fen’Falon followed from a few feet away.

Solas’s paced quickened as he got nearer to the orb, and he finally knelt next to it, one hand going to hold it up. The orb fell apart around his hand into large chunks - something during the fall had cracked the powerless device. A nearly perfect half yet remained, and it was this piece that Solas cradled in his hands as he rocked back onto his heels. 

Despite everything that had happened between them, Fen’Falon couldn’t allow herself to stand by while her wolf was so clearly distressed.

“Solas?” Fen’Falon asked softly.

“The orb,” he said.

“I know you wanted the orb saved, Solas. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“It is not  _ your _ fault.” Fen’Falon noted the cadence - if not hers, then whose? Corypheus, or even Solas? The elvhen mage stood and turned to look at Fen’Falon. A ghost of a smile crossed his face before the mask of indifference returned.

“There’s more to this than you’re saying, isn’t there,” Fen’Falon said.

Solas looked distressed. “It was not supposed to happen this way,” he said, sadness lacing his voice. Fen’Falon hadn’t heard that tone from him since Wisdom had died. “No matter what comes, I want you to know that you shall always have my respect.”

The two stood in silence before it was broken by a voice calling from below the Temple ruins.

“Inquisitor? Are you alive?” Cassandra’s voice rang through. Fen’Falon turned towards the voice and left the Temple before she and Solas did something they might regret later. Miraculously, the stairs that had led up to the Divine’s rooms were still intact and provided Fen’Falon with an easy way to reach the others.

Everyone she had come to know over the last few months had gathered at the base of the stairs. Morrigan was conspicuously absent, and the advisors were back at Skyhold, but those that had joined her rushed dance into battle were all there.

A sense of presence behind Fen’Falon alerted her to Solas, and she turned to look up the stairs just in time to see him walk out of sight. The loss of the orb had clearly hit him hard, but as with Wisdom’s loss, Fen’Falon expected that Solas would be back at Skyhold within a week or two at most. After all, she reasoned, he still owed her an explanation for refusing to see her romantically anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \o/ On to the endgame/postgame! *dances*
> 
> It's taken more than a year to get here, but I'm so glad for everyone who's left kudos, commented, and otherwise stuck with it, especially if you've been reading since I posted chapter 1.
> 
> This isn't the end, though. Even after I've handled the postgame epilogue stuff, there's more to come. We'll be following Fen'Falon through the 2 years between this and Trespasser, and of course there's Trespasser itself.
> 
> Which actually leads me to a question: do y'all want me to move into a second, separate work for the lead up to and including Trespasser? Or should I just keep writing on this big sucker?


	74. Til the Sun Goes Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently being trapped in an airport as a flight is continuously delayed (first by an hour, then by an additional two after that, and we should be boarding but aren't so it's probably more than that now) is really good for my muse. So now we have an update! \o/
> 
> Finally closing out on the main story of Inquisition. Thanks for sticking with it, I'm going to try and create a buffer of chapters to cover the time between now and Trespasser and then Trespasser itself so that I can get back to a more regular posting schedule. The lead up to Trespasser and the events of Trespasser will be covered in a new story, since I like the way this ends. Keep your eyes posted, and I'll update with an author's note chapter after this to point y'all at the right story!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)

The cheers from the soldiers who had newly returned from the Arbor Wilds after two weeks helped to ground Fen’Falon even as she was pulled aside by Leliana. Sometimes, just knowing that even as a figurehead the young mage had an effect on the Inquisition and the world kept Fen’Falon from running off. The moment was quickly squashed by Leliana’s news.

“My agents have found no trace of Solas. He has simply vanished,” Leliana said. Fen’Falon had approached the spymaster a week previous about finding the elvhen mage when he did not return to Skyhold. While the spymaster had initially refused on the grounds that it was a waste of manpower, Fen’Falon reminded Leliana that the loss of clan Lavellan was partially the spymaster’s fault. Leliana had agreed to find Solas soon after.

“If he does not wish to be found, there’s likely nothing we can do. But I can keep looking,” Leliana continued when Fen’Falon didn’t respond.

“It’s so unlike him,” Fen’Falon mused. “Last time he needed time to himself, to think, to breathe. Where has he gone? Maybe there’s something wrong.”

“You said he was upset about the orb.”

“Yes, but to just...abandon me?” Fen’Falon shook her head. “There must be another reason for his absence.”

Leliana shook her head and made for the rookery at the top of the library tower, effectively ending the conversation. 

Fen’Falon returned to her rooms at the top of the keep and enjoyed a day of quiet before the horde of nobles and well-wishers descended on Skyhold to meet their Inquisitor. Josephine came to fetch the elven mage from her rooms to greet the first few waves, and soon the days blurred together as some sort of enormous party was planned to celebrate the defeat of Corypheus and the permanent closing of the Breach.

The bluish-green aurora left by the Breach kept Fen’Falon awake at night sometimes, usually when she found herself waking from a dream of being just behind Solas as he plunged towards some unspoken goal.

The party, of course, felt worse than any battle ever did to Fen’Falon. Surrounded by  _ shemlen _ nobles, without a single elf to keep her company apart from the servingmen and servingwomen, the last Lavellen had never felt more out of place. Josephine and Leliana had tried to bully her into wearing the formal attire worn for the fiasco at Halamshiral, but Fen’Falon had managed to wiggle out of that obligation by pointing out that it wasn’t armoured. Someone was bound to try and kill her at the party, now that her usefulness had expired.

The assassination attempt never came. Over the next few months, word came from all corners of Thedas as the Inquisitors closest companions, friends, and occasionally unwelcome advisors scattered to return to whatever they had been doing before the Inquisition pulled them in.

From Orlais, word that Briala had become quite the power behind the throne, and Gaspard had been left licking his wounds. From the North, the Grey Wardens made their home in Weisshaupt, with Lady Hawke along on some kind of mission for her apostate lover. Any news from Weisshaupt ceased soon after that missive - not even Leliana’s agents had anything new to add. 

One month after the Breach was closed, Leliana was summoned to appear before the Chantry leaders. The spymaster for the Inquisition was named the new Divine, and took the name Divine Victoria, likely in honour of the victory over Corypheus. The changes Leliana began making to the Chantry angered a great many, and soon the Chantry fractured underneath the pressure.

Two months after the Breach was closed, Fen’Falon attempted to leave the Inquisition. Cullen sent templar-trained soldiers to bring her back to Skyhold, citing the danger of the Inquisitor travelling alone as the reason. Fen’Falon knew that it was because the Inquisition didn’t want to lose its figurehead while it was consolidating its power. 

Cullen’s insistence became empty words the first time a Ferelden assassin snuck into Skyhold and tried to eliminate Fen’Falon as she stood on her balcony to admire the sunrise. Only the faint whisper of a bowstring gave her warning enough to duck below the balustrade; her retaliation saw the the archer reduced to a charred skeleton. No one but Fen’Falon herself saw how the Anchor in her left palm pulsed with that use, the light of the Fade expanded and appeared to have cracked Fen’Falon’s skin partway up her forearm.

Fen’Falon soon realised the connection - the more she used magic and drew on the Anchor to power her spells, the deeper and longer the ‘cracks’ in her arm got. It wasn’t long before the pain that she had experienced in those first few days at Haven returned. Whatever Solas had done to stabilise the Anchor, it was beginning to fade away. Fen’Falon resolved not to use magic as much as possible, and pushed the Iron Bull into training her in hand-to-hand combat.

Four months after the Breach was closed - the people were calling the aurora in the sky the “Scar” - Fen’Falon dreamed of Solas so clearly it was almost like she was there.

Her gloved and armoured hand in front of her lay flat against the active surface of an  _ eluvian _ , the ancient magicks seeming almost pleased to be in contact with her. A sense of being watched came over her and she pulled her hand away from the mirror.

“I knew you would come,” she said, in the voice Mythal had used on Morrigan before the Battle of the Arbor Wilds.

She turned her head to peer at the visitor. “You should not have given your orb to Corpyheus, Dread Wolf,” she said, and turned to face him fully.

He walked towards her, wearing only the simple clothes of a wandering elf - a long cream tunic over olive breeches. The sole concession to his status was a blackened wolf’s jawbone hung from leather cord around his neck.

“I was too weak to unlock it after my slumber,” Fen’Harel replied. He sounded sad to her, and it was an unwelcome thing. “The failure was mine. I should pay the price, but the People, they need me.” 

They were now so close that she could almost bend her head and touch her forehead to his. She raised one of her hands to cup the side of Fen’Harel’s face; he responded by holding his palm over hers in acceptance of the gesture.

“I am so sorry,” Fen’Harel said.

She brought their heads together until her cheek rested against his forehead. “I am sorry as well, old friend,” she told him.

With the look of determination, Fen’Harel brought his will to bear on her, and she welcomed it. Finally, finally, she would be free and the People would be returned to their former glory. The piece of her that was Mythal was pulled from the vessel, and the view point of the dream shifted with it into the Dread Wolf. 

The body she had just vacated was lowered slowly to the ground even as the remaining human life left it - without Mythal to power the vessel, the human that had once been Flemeth could no longer sustain itself. The body blackened where the Dread Wolf laid it in front of the  _ eluvian _ , and a sensation of finally having enough power to complete his newfound purpose came over the combined sparks.

Fen’Falon woke with a gasp, the dream forgotten except for a few shards here and there, and the vague sense that she had discovered something momentously life-changing.

She had to find Solas.


	75. Author's Note

The sequel story has started to be posted! This story is now marked as part of a series, Lavellan's Tale, and continues in "Through Sky and Glass".


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